


Hard Way Home

by BecauseDawn, Kennel_Boy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 106,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4705091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecauseDawn/pseuds/BecauseDawn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kennel_Boy/pseuds/Kennel_Boy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torn from their homes by the Blight and betrayal, can a hidebound Circle mage and a headstrong Dalish overcome their differences and save Ferelden before the Archdemon’s corruption devours all they hold dear?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Road to Lothering

**Author's Note:**

> For ALL the Jael/Alim fics, [Hard Way Home Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Jael_and_Alim)
> 
> For Jael/Alim art (including fanart, commissions and art by BecauseDawn), [Hard Way Home - Art Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6426676/chapters/14711731)
> 
> A huge thank you to our editor, Irrational-Pie and beta readers, Meridok and Aubergion!

“Four days!” said Mab as she took Alim's empty plate. “It was a fool's errand in the first place. Who goes looking for the Dalish?” She rinsed the dish in a bucket and set it aside before waving a wet hand at him.“And you! Two days, he said. Three at the most. It's been four days and I still have a bloody mage in my house while that man’s likely been cut to pieces by savages. You have one more day, elf, and then you can find your way back to wherever you came from. I don't care if you're meant for the Wardens, I'll not be harboring magic in this house any longer.”

 “Of course,” Alim muttered. She grabbed her bucket and took it outside, leaving him blessedly alone at the rough wooden table. Thatched roof overhead, rushes underfoot, and everywhere in between a constant stream of complaints from old Mab; if there was one thing he could agree with her on, it was that one more day was an intolerable thought. Of course, with Duncan away looking for more recruits, there was no place to go.

 Denerim had offered no one. Alim, overwhelmed by streets and scenes that were still familiar after fourteen years, had declined Duncan's offer to accompany him to the alienage. Instead, he had tucked himself into an alcove of the market Chantry, the only bit of familiar that felt comfortable, and pulled out his journal to read. Duncan, alone, collected him close to sundown.

 It was his book that he returned to now, pulling it out of his pack and setting it on the table. The book was plainly bound in dark leather, too heavy and thick to be carrying about Ferelden but with years of notes and spells written in his own neat hand, too precious to be left behind at Kinloch Hold. Alim flipped to the point that he'd stopped reading the day before. While the days at Mab's had provided a break from travel, they also left too much empty time to think about people left behind and a home he would likely not be allowed to see again.

 So Alim read, keeping self-indulgent sorrow at bay by reviewing what he'd learned in his last few years at the Circle. The reading also kept his thoughts off Mab. Almost. Despite the coins Duncan had given her, she hadn't had a pleasant moment since Alim had known her. Hopefully he wouldn't have to know her much longer.

 “Mage!” 

Alim sighed, closed his book, and stepped over to the open door. The woman was hurrying back towards the hut, her bucket sloshing clean water in her wake.

 “Mage! Duncan is here for you and he's got one of those thieving heathens with him. You get your things and be off. I don't need that savage anywhere near my home.”

 Alim looked over Mab’s shoulder toward the forest and saw two figures approaching. One, tall and broad, was obviously Duncan. Alim nodded at his host and turned back to the table to stuff his book into his pack and grab the wooden staff leaning in the corner.

 “Thank you, I appre-”

 “Go!” she hissed. “I've had enough of you cursed elves, Wardens or not.” She pushed Alim out the door and slammed the door between them. 

It took a moment for Alim to realize he'd been included in the insult. Four days of quiet and polite company seemed to account for little with some people. He hitched his pack up onto his back and left to join Duncan.

 As the distance closed between them, Alim was momentarily confused. The man walking beside Duncan was tall, taller than any elf Alim had ever seen. He almost thought he was a human until he noticed the pointed ears. And the tattoos… sharp and angular over the elf's dark features. Alim couldn’t guess at what they were meant to represent.

 “This is Jael Mahariel.” Duncan inclined his head toward the Dalish, only to receive a hard look in return. “He’s come upon some trouble recently. He’ll travel with us and join the Wardens once we reach Ostagar.”

 “Alim Surana.” He nodded at the Dalish but didn’t extend a hand. He had no idea what the other elf’s customs might be and, judging by Jael’s expression, wasn’t sure the other man would welcome the gesture. “Late of Kinloch Hold.”

 Jael barely gave Alim a glance; his hostile gaze was reserved for Duncan. He pulled up the wolf-head hood on his heavy fur cloak, hiding his face from view.

 “I never gave you my name, shem. Don’t feel so free to hand it out.” His voice was hoarse and grating. Not the rasp that came with age or smoke, but the aftermath of something like hard weeping or perhaps screaming.

 The Dalish turned away from them both, pointedly facing the road and waiting for Duncan to get on with it. None of them had any reason to linger.

  

* * *

 

The faint chill of the morning was giving way to the warmth of afternoon as the party of three made their way along the narrow, weed-choked road. There was scarcely a breeze to stir the air and the sky was a clear, welcoming blue as far as the eye could see. All in all, it was shaping up to be the most pleasant day the fledgling autumn had seen so far, and a fine one for travel.

 None of it registered with Jael Mahariel. He was Dalish. Defiance was bred into his bones. He had little use for the city elf walking at the human’s side, and none at all for the human himself. His thoughts lingered with his Clan. He'd thought he'd finally reached a state of numbness, but with nothing to occupy him but the plod of one foot in front of the other, memories of his family pushed into his thoughts.

 When he'd realized he had no choice but to leave his home behind, it had all but broken him in two. He'd left his heart in the final, painfully tight embrace of his mother. He'd left his word with Keeper Marethari, that he would do whatever it took to return home. He told himself that he hadn’t been cast out, that he’d taken them with him in a sense. The leather campaign armor, riding so much heavier on his shoulders than the garb of a hunter, carried with it Ilen's skill. The craftsmaster had come to say his farewells in private while Jael had packed, and pushed the gift on him with the wish that it would protect him and help bring him home. Merrill, who knew what it was to leave all you knew behind, had wrapped him a wordless, grief-choked embrace that had left him bruised. And Ashalle and Tamlen, their love was both memory to be treasured and close enough to touch in the wolfen cloak on his shoulders... 

Oh, gods…Tamlen.

 Jael almost choked on the guilt and pain that came rushing back with the memory of his hunt-brother’s death, but he pushed the grief away with vicious pragmatism. Mourning would have to wait for later. For now, he was infected with the same corruption that had killed Tamlen. Though he strove to show no weakness before Duncan, he ached as if in a deep fever. The opportunistic bastard had offered him his only chance at a cure, so the task ahead was to live through whatever service the shem had in mind for him so that he could return home and make Clan and family whole again. As whole as could be managed.

 Jael shook himself back to the present and glared at the human’s back. He had received only vague answers to his questions so far, but perhaps the shem would be less cryptic away from the ears of an entire clan of Dalish. If nothing else, talk would be a distraction.

 "What is it you want with me?" 

Without turning his head, Duncan replied, "For now, I am taking you and Alim to Lothering to meet the other Grey Warden recruits."

 Recruits. Jael's lip curled at the word. That was a nice way to refer to someone you had bent over a fence rail. "And after that?"

 "Then we're on to Ostagar."

 "And after that?"

 "That remains to be seen."

 Jael opened his mouth to speak -- to snarl -- but snapped his jaw shut a moment later. Fine. He wouldn't bother wasting his breath. Better to observe, and glean what he could, than to speak for the sake of learning nothing. As soon as he had performed whatever service the shem wanted for the damned cure, he would flee back to the wild to find his Clan’s trail. It might take the whole season to find the wintering ground that the Keeper and Maren had chosen this year, but at least he knew enough to guess where to start. He would see his family again. All he had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other until this journey was over. He just had to endure. 

The other elf, introduced as Alim, had seemed to pay little attention to the exchange between him and Duncan, so that likely didn’t account for the thin-lipped frown. Jael kept his attention on the mage for a time, trying to assess him without engaging. He couldn’t have seen the sun often, for he was as pale as the belly of a frog. His fine robes, just starting starting to show the wear of the road, held Jael’s attention a moment longer than he would have liked to admit; though his people had taken in city-reared elves before, mages who escaped the captivity of Circle towers were rare and Jael had never seen one.

 The mage kept his eyes downcast, keeping his thoughts entirely to himself. But for all his silence, he was still the noisiest of all of them as he scuffed along the trail in boots still new enough to squeak. Between making enough noise to alert every animal on the path that they were coming and a gait that said Alim wasn't entirely comfortable with the road as of yet, Jael supposed it was hardly a wonder that the mage looked like a mule hitched to too heavy a load. He obviously wasn’t used to extended travel afoot, and there was no reason to assume that the shem had given him any more choice about the journey than he had Jael. Shemlen were known to keep mages on a short leash, even when they weren’t physically imprisoned.

 Jael tucked that observation away for later. It was possible he could offer the other elf freedom in exchange for his help when it came time to escape. The Clan had only two mages, Keeper Marethari and her First. And even if his clan hadn't been short of magic-users, surely they wouldn't turn away an elf fleeing the walls of a shemlen prison.

 Still, Jael reminded himself, it was best not to risk mentioning that until he had a better idea if his companion was truly an unhappy prisoner or just another fawning, prick-eared dog walking upright.

 Duncan tried to draw Jael into conversation as the day wore on, but the Dalish met his attempts with angry silence. If the shem wouldn’t answer his questions, then he was a fool to think Jael would grant him anything other than the same treatment.

 The silence between the three of them carried into the afternoon and wore on into twilight, until the trio finally stopped to make a cold camp at the side of the wagon path. Jael kept his distance from both of them. He climbed a large beech tree while the other two prepared their bedding, forcing himself to move with far more ease than he felt. The shem hadn't lied about the gravity of his illness, that much was certain. The corruption was festering away inside his body. It had been less than a full day's walk, but he felt every mile of it in his cramping, exhausted muscles. His brow was hot to the touch and just the idea of eating made his stomach heave. He settled instead for digging out some of the herbs the Keeper had given him at their parting: cat’s tongue to be taken as itself, mint, feverease, and bloodleaf for brewing. He chewed dutifully on a few of the bitter leaves, hoping they would soothe his guts. Wherever they were going, it would be a longer trip still if he couldn't keep food down.

  

* * *

 

The other elf was up a tree, blades, bow, and all, and Alim was left wishing he had spent a little time of his time in the Circle library reading up on the Dalish. At the time, the Dalish had seemed as distant and fanciful as dragons. In a library it would take a lifetime to work through, the fanciful things tended to get left on the shelf. But now he wondered if they were all as tall as this one. And did they usually retreat to trees in the evening?

 "Is he coming down?" Alim asked quietly.

 "You are free to ask him," said Duncan, sitting down to eat.

 Alim shook his head and pulled out his own food. He’d seen how Jael talked to Duncan - best keep his distance for now. And, in truth, four days with an ungracious host had managed to drain him of his willingness to dispense pleasantries for the time being. The thought of Mab combined with a day of travel left him as weary as he’d been his first day out of the Circle. He choked the travel rations down as quickly as he could, chased them with a swallow of water, and unrolled his blanket before falling into sleep.

 *~*~*~*~*

 “Your turn on watch.”

 It took Alim a moment to remember why he was curled up, sore and stiff, on the bare ground; a moment longer to remember whose voice was nudging him into wakefulness. He pushed himself up and mumbled a thank you to Jael, who was little more than a shape in the dark. His eyes were adjusting, but it was still dark enough to make Alim's mind turn to things he'd managed to push aside since leaving the tower. He wanted a light and a distraction. 

“Would it be okay to make a light?” Alim asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat up. “Just a small one to read by?”

 Jael looked sharply in his direction. The gesture might have gone unnoticed, save for the telltale flash of starlight reflected from elven eyes.

 "Didn't the shem warn you?" he asked, keeping his words to a low rasp. "A light might keep hungry beasts at bay, but that isn't what we should be worried about. There are worse things wandering out here… darkspawn and all manner of blighted beasts." His gravelly whisper grew even harsher as he spoke. 

"He probably did," said Alim. It was a lie but it seemed likely that he’d simply expected Jael to inform Alim. If not, Alim wasn’t about help fuel the his hostility toward their commander.   "And his name is Duncan."

 "I don’t give a damn what his name is,” Jael growled. “And I can’t say I think much of his skill as a teacher if he didn’t bother to impress upon you just how dangerous it is out here. He’s as good as left you staked out for the first beast to wander along."

 "With respect," Alim said, "I’m not exactly helpless.” Somewhat lacking in common sense it seemed, but not helpless. "Regardless, you should get some sleep. I’m a healer, but that’s not much use if you’re exhausted tomorrow.”

 The advice was met by a hoarse bark of laughter.

 "There’s no power in Thedas that I’d trust to quiet my head right now, healer. Our Keeper poured healing into me for three days trying to stay the corruption the shem spoke of. If that's not enough to keep me on my feet, you'd just be wasting your magic." Jael sat heavily beside Alim. "I'll last to Ostagar or I won't. And if I don't, that's not your doing."

 He was infected with the Blight. Alim was furious. Would that not be an important piece of information for the one party member capable of healing to have?

 Instead of being left behind while Duncan went wandering off into the trees to gather up a Dalish elf, Alim might have gone with him, talked to this Keeper, understood what needed to be done if Jael faltered. ‘Poured healing into me’ was an utterly useless description.

 It occurred to Alim that perhaps Duncan wasn't quite sure of what to do with a mage. Maybe there no other mages in the Wardens.

 Jael, at least, seemed to know enough to think he could tell Alim what his limits were. He was tempted to give the man a lecture on his accomplishments in the Circle, that he had been the First Enchanter's apprentice, but he suspected it would not make a difference. If Alim couldn't skin a rabbit or climb a tree, Jael was not likely to be impressed.

 "I’m sorry, I didn’t realize," Alim said, putting aside his thoughts. The man was dying, after all.  “I'll trust your healer's magic."

 Jael accepted the verdict with a brief nod as he settled cross-legged on the grass. "Ma serannas. It’s worthy that you offer respect to our Keeper." Silence, not entirely uncomfortable, settled between them. Finally, Jael nodded toward Alim’s journal. 

“What were you going to read? I’ve not met many other elves who could. Not even the ones from the cities.”

 The question was a surprise. Relieved at the change of subject, Alim reached over to his pack  and pulled out his book.

 "It's a journal -- a grimoire, of sorts. It's where I've written spells I've learned, notes on magic, ideas. I've been rereading some of it." Alim brushed a hand across the cover. "I have no idea what the Grey Wardens will expect of me. Best to be familiar with what I can offer them." He offered the book to Jael.  

 Jael's voice dropped into a growl once more. "That makes two of us, then." Despite his renewed ire, he took the book with care that was nearly reverence, glancing briefly to Alim for confirmation before he even opened it. Save for the fact that he had to hold the book near his face to read, the dark didn’t seem to bother Jael. It was the words themselves that seemed to give him more trouble; he used one finger to track the text, and his lips mouthed the words, though he did not read out loud.

 Jael finally seemed to notice Alim’s eyes on him. He closed the grimoire and handed it back to the mage with the same care he'd taken it. He nodded his thanks.

 "It must be important if you’re willing to carry it across Ferelden. Perhaps you'll have more chance to study at Lothering."

 “One can hope." 

Alim tucked the book back into the pack, "I'm hoping we'll be staying in an inn for a night once we get there. A bed, a roof, and a bottle of wine… that sounds wonderful to me."

 "You'll have a few nights to wait yet." Jael withdrew into his cloak, hiding himself from view once more.“But I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight, healer. If you want some extra rest, you may as well take it."

 Going without sleep could not be a good idea but Jael had ignored his advice earlier and Alim doubted he would listen now. He might as well get his rest in case he and Duncan ended up dragging the Dalish man along between them.

 "I will," Alim said, "thank you." He pulled his blanket around him and settled back into his bedroll. 

 

* * *

 

If Jael was feeling the lack of sleep the next morning, he wasn’t showing it. Duncan watched him as they broke camp, but Jael didn't acknowledge him beyond obeying direct orders or supplying one-word answers.

 Jael's stamina impressed Alim. Evidently, what was difficult for a soft tower mage was nothing unusual for a Dalish. That made Alim curious about what Jael's role was in his clan. There were other questions he would like to ask as well, about the tattoos on his face, about the wolfskin cloak, and about the circumstances of his recruitment. But though Jael was up and walking, he didn't look ready to be pestered with questions and Alim wasn't sure if a few polite words in the middle of the night gave him the right to ask. If they were going to be Wardens together, there was time to learn those things. What Alim didn't feel he had time for was uncertainty about what the Wardens needed from him.

 "Duncan," he said after a few quick steps to catch up with him, "After Lothering, we're heading straight for Ostagar. I'm just wondering what you intend to do with me there. You mentioned the King needed more mages..."

 Duncan nodded. "I went to the Circle hoping for more mages for the battle. I am glad, however, that we have a healer amongst our recruits."

 "But you have other mages?" asked Alim, " What will they be doing?"

 "We have one other mage. He will be doing what is asked of him," Duncan held Alim's gaze for a moment, "And what is asked of him may be different than what is asked of you. More than that, we will see when we get to Ostagar."

 He should have expected that answer. Questions about what to expect in the Wardens were generally vague and inevitably circled back to some form of 'you’ll see later'.

 The rest of the day passed slowly. The woodlands had thinned out to the occasional stand of trees the day before, now they were left behind completely. Cleared land and fallow fields were all around them. Absent conversation, Alim let his mind wander in every direction but Lake Calenhad. He considered what little Duncan had shared about the Blight and the Grey Wardens, wondered at Jael's tattoos, went over spells in his head, reconsidered the Canticles he had committed to memory. He even pretended some interest in the landscape around them.

 Finally Duncan signaled a stop. Alim slipped off his pack and set his staff down.

 "I hope you're eating with us tonight," he said to Jael.

 Jael looked up from the grassy spot where he'd planted himself almost as soon as a halt had been called.

 "If you'd like." Jael still kept his voice low, but the ragged quality was smoothing out.

 "I would, thank you," replied Alim.

 The evening was pleasantly warm and the work to set up camp was quickly done. Alim pulled his food from his pack then stole a glance to see what, if anything, Jael was having for his supper. That the Dalish had not eaten much had not escaped his notice. 

Jael kept the hood of his cloak up, hiding his face beneath the canine visage once more. He picked over his provisions briefly and finally took out some waybread and a strip of smoked meat.Eating a meal with a wolf was not what Alim had expected but, he noted, at least he was eating something.

 "Your cloak," he asked Jael, "if you don't mind the question, did you kill the wolf?”

 The question brought on a few moments of silence, as if it came as a surprise.

 "No," Jael said finally, turning a bit to face Alim. "It was a gift from my family when I took my _vallaslin_." Another pause, then he added. "My...tattoos."

 "What do they represent?" asked Alim.

 Jael rose to his feet and gestured for Alim to follow him. He didn't lead Alim from Duncan’s line of sight, only far enough away that they could speak between themselves.

 "When Dalish come of age, we choose one of our gods to dedicate ourselves to," he explained quietly, pushing his hood back as he did to allow Alim a better view of his vallaslin. "It is...a personal matter. Some know whose ways they wish to follow from a young age, others may spend their whole childhood seeking an answer. And when we're ready to take on the responsibilities of an adult, we petition our teachers and the Keeper. If they agree, we spend a night in meditation of our path, and at first light, the Keeper takes us away from the camp and tattoos the markings of our chosen god on our face.

 "If we cry out during the initiation, the Keeper returns us to the Clan, and we must wait at least another season before we petition again. If we do not, then we return ready to take the responsibilities of hunting, healing, crafting...whatever is needed of us."

 Jael paused, looking very near to self-conscious. "Abelas," he muttered apologetically. "I haven't let you ask any questions."

 "And you don't have to," Alim said. He glanced back at Duncan, wondering why he merited sharing this information with while their commander was left out. "I think I've been rude. Thank you for telling me, but if it makes you uncomfortable..?"

 Jael blinked. "I don't understand. How have you been rude?"

 "I've barely known you for two days and I'm prying into private matters," Alim smiled, "I was taught better, I promise."

 "Ah." Jael relaxed a little. "I see. I think I explained badly. One's dedication is a personal choice, but hardly secret..." He laughed and tapped the jagged lines at the center of his forehead. "We do wear it in plain view. And the rest...well, you let me read your book. That is more secret than my vallaslin, I think." He shrugged. "Besides, you're an elf."

 Dragging Alim off to tell him of the tattoos made marginally more sense. It was good to hear Jael laugh, despite how weary he looked. Perhaps he wasn't as somber as Alim had assumed.

 "Ah well, I have the ears, I suppose. I'm not sure that counts for much," Alim said.  "And there's not much for secrets in the book of a mage barely out of apprenticeship."

 "You count." Jael glanced back toward the distant woods. "Our ways may not be your ways, but we have a common heritage. It does no harm for me to share it."

 Alim didn't look back to Jael. He needed a moment to process what Jael had said beyond 'you count'.

 Alim had made dismissive comments many times in the past: to put a human at ease or to excuse his ignorance to other elves. He never thought of it as a question, let alone that there might be an answer he wanted to hear. Strangely, the realization did not make him happy.

 "Maybe tomorrow," he mumbled. Then, more clearly, "You need rest. Duncan and I should be able to handle watch tonight." 

He paused, a hand going to his braid and then back down to his side. He should say thank you. Instead he turned and went back to Duncan to discuss the night watch.

 

* * *

 

Jael watched Alim go, frowning as he considered the situation. He did need to sleep, and badly. That didn't mean he would be able to. He didn’t want to put his camp duties on Alim either. Perhaps they would be able to pull a double watch and keep each other awake. Even so, he should at least try to rest.

 It was an unseasonably warm night. Unpacking blankets seemed too much of a bother. Jael pulled his hood low and curled up under his cloak, using his bedroll as a pillow.

 Despite his exhaustion, sleep was elusive. Nightmares that were all splintered shards of memory and lurking horror sliced through his rest and left him sitting upright and shaking, rivulets of cold sweat trickling down his spine. The memory of Tamlen's horrified face as the eluvian unveiled its malice was burned behind his eyes and lingered, even through his waking. His head throbbed with the pounding of his heart and his stomach kept trying to churn into his throat with every agonized beat.

 He bowed his head, teeth bared, whispering the Way of the Bow as he tried to center himself. Bend but never break. He had to remember that. And to bend only as far as absolutely need be.

 Only just settled enough to keep his hands from shaking, Jael rose to his feet and stalked toward Alim. He sat before a small fire. The shem must have felt they were safe here, closer to their destination, Jael decided. Jael stepped slowly and deliberately to alert Alim to his presence. After a moment’s thought, he dropped his hood; there was no benefit to startling a mage, after all. Not if you didn’t want your hind parts scorched.

 He didn't speak at first, only settled down a few arm spans from Alim, staring into the fire. He'd thought to ask more questions, but Alim seemed to step carefully around personal matters, so whatever his life had been before the Circle seemed an unlikely topic, perhaps even a rude one. Bad place to set foot. He'd thought to ask about the Circle, to try and make sense of the few pages he'd read from Alim’s book, but he found he didn't have the energy to link the half-recalled concepts into sentences. In the end, all he could offer was a nod.

 "Aneth’ara. I couldn't sleep," he said by way of explanation. "I hoped you wouldn't mind the company."

 "Not at all," said Alim. He seemed surprised to see Jael up. "Did you get any sleep at all?"

 "Not much," he admitted. "Enough to get us through to Lothering tomorrow if I read the map right. At least then we shouldn't have to worry about who's on watch." Jael scuffed a foot toward the flames. "I'll sleep there, probably. I have some tea to help. And you will get to study. And...we'll see who else the Wardens have 'recruited' to their order."

 "Yes, their definition of recruit is very flexible. Thank the Maker for that." Alim said, smiling. He paused, obviously searching for the best way to ask his next question, "They have a way to help you, I assume. With the Blight. Have they told you what it is?"

 Jael snorted. "Why would a slant-eared rabbit need to know something like that? He told me I could serve his order or die. And if the Keeper hadn't made me promise to live, I'd have seen him leave empty-handed."

 Alim glanced away a moment, cleared his throat. "Well, I'm glad she made you promise. It's good to have some company during watch. Duncan said the same thing to me. More or less."

 The confession came as a surprise. Jael had assumed Alim had been given some choice in following the Warden. After a moment of thought, however, he admitted it was probably a foolish conclusion. The shems weren't known for giving their magic users any kind of freedom, after all.

 "What did you do that deserved death?"

 "Something I shouldn't have." Alim stared down at his hands, seemingly unable to meet Jael’s gaze. "Something I knew was wrong. Something that deserved punishment, in any case. So it was serve or die… Duncan only told me the truth," Alim let a small smile return, "I still refused him though. He had to conscript me. There's your warning - I can be terrifically stubborn sometimes."

 "I would warn you of the same, but I think you've figured that out by now." The tiny, watered down smile Jael offered in return trickled away as the fresh burn of cramping muscle traveled through his body. He gritted his teeth until it had passed, then spoke just above a whisper.

 "I let my hunt-brother die. We were exploring a ruin and we found old magic. I should have dragged him away at the first sign of danger. Gone back to the Clan, told the Keeper. Instead, we both wound up stricken with this corruption. Tamlen... died alone in the woods, and our Keeper only just saved me."

 "I'm sorry," said Alim. "Hunt-brother? He was a good friend?"

 "Hunt-brothers..." Jael struggled for the familiar to help bury the grief. He wasn't even sure why he had decided to speak of Tamlen. Perhaps it was just wanting him to be remembered, even if outside of their family. "Formally, it doesn't have to be more than a partnership, two hunters who choose to work together and whose skills compliment each other. Friendship almost always grows, if it was not there before. But Tamlen was as close as my brother. We were born a week apart and raised in the same aravel." Jael took a deep breath, willing himself steady. "Yes. He was a good friend."

 "I understand," Alim said. "I do. I had a friend like that, from almost my first days at the tower. I’m lucky he put up with me then." He spent several moments lacing and unlacing his fingers before he spoke again.

 "I helped him escape the Circle. I helped him destroy his phylactery - how the Templars track mages - and now he's free. Out there," Alim waved a hand, "somewhere. The Circle doesn’t think much of that sort of thing."

 The quiet confession boosted Alim by several notches in Jael's estimation, and not only because he'd defied the Templars, an act Jael approved of on principle.

 "That took courage," he said. "Were you caught, or merely suspected?"

 "Caught. And no, it didn't take courage," Alim shook his head. "What would have taken courage was if I'd gone to the First Enchanter when Jowan asked for help. I didn’t realize it at first, but he was using blood magic. There were enough clues, I should have known.”

 Jael grinned at him, a glimmer of humor in the dark. "I only commented on your bravery, not your forethought." But his amusement was short-lived.

 "I don't know much of magic compared to the Keeper," he admitted, "but I have heard of the mercy of Templars. I don't think much of it. Whatever else can be said, you were still brave to help him escape."

 "We'll disagree then," Alim said, a sharp edge to his words. "And I'm not sure what you've heard about the Templars but I'm quite grateful for their mercy. The tower was my home and the Templars were the ones who brought me there. Campfires in the wild are charming for a bit, but frankly I would be right back in the library, with Templars at every door, if they let me return."

 Jael turned his gaze back to the "charming" campfire, surprised at the strength of his disappointment and, even more, his embarrassment at how badly he'd misjudged. He had let his own desperation blind him to the nature of his companion: a dog longing for his kennel. There would be no clandestine plans for escape, not with this mage. He was on his own as surely as he'd been when he'd followed the shem away from his people.

 "What I've heard about your Templars," he growled, "is the grief from the lips of parents who've been threatened into giving up their children… or from those mourning the ones who would not and were killed. And the anger from smaller Clans who were harassed and abused for ‘harboring apostates'. My Clan tends to avoid shemlen and we're strong enough that those canting cowards don't mark us as easy prey when we can’t, but that doesn't mean we keep our ears shut." One thought bled into another: Templars, magic, Keepers, family, death... 

Jael rose to his feet. "I'm going back to sleep," he said, knowing it was a lie. "Sorry to interrupt your watch."

 He turned on his heel and left Alim silent and alone at the campfire.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to our editor, Irrational-Pie!


	2. Our Heroes (illustration)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jael Mahariel and Alim Surana by [Autumn-Sacura.](http://autumn-sacura.deviantart.com/)

Alim and Jael on the road to Lothering.


	3. Teaser (Illustration)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teaser illo from BecauseDawn


	4. Chapter 4

Morning brought with it a chill and the first hints of frost, but the sun chased both back to the realm of mere possibility by the time they'd broken camp. Jael was more withdrawn than ever, acknowledging Alim with blank politeness and Duncan barely at all. Whether this was fresh aloofness or simply the result of sickness and exhaustion, it at least made for a quiet journey.

Lothering was near enough that they pressed on past the point when they would have normally camped. By twilight, they were approaching it from the north, coming in over the wagon paths at the outskirts of tilled fields rather than along the Imperial Highway. It was a far rougher path into town, but Duncan seemed to prefer avoiding the heavier traffic of the paved roads. The village was sitting in the shadow of the Highway’s viaduct behind a wooden palisade. Peeking over the wall were thatched roofs, and watching over those was a large building to the east. 

The number of people in the village surprised Alim. By the time they reached the river that divided Lothering in two, all of them had been reduced to taking half-steps and were choking on the dust kicked up by hundreds of feet. Even in the Denerim market there hadn't been the overwhelming press of people found here. Duncan led them through the crowds to the large building Alim had noticed before. Up close, it was a less-than-impressive inn: double-storied, thatched, whitewashed and sprawled within a stone’s throw of the river like a downed drunk. But for all its humble appearance, the townsfolk seemed to be doing brisk business within.

“Dane's Refuge,” Duncan supplied. “Alistair should have arrived with the other recruits. Hopefully, he'll have managed to secure rooms, though that might not have been possible.” Duncan nodded at the people around them. “But we will have a hot meal."

Tracking down Alistair proved easy; as soon as they pushed open the tavern’s door, a young brunet near the back of the tavern leapt to his feet and waved them over so eagerly that he nearly took his companions' drinks off the table.

"Duncan! We were starting to wonder if you'd decided to go on to Ostagar without us.” He gestured to indicate his companions. Both were humans, one broad and balding, and the other lean and sharp, both dark-haired and older than Alistair.

Alistair began introductions. “This would be Ser Jory of Highever, and Daveth of..."

"No place in particular, these days." Daveth, the lean recruit, smiled. He was obviously at ease in the crowd, while Jory seemed unsure whether he should stand upon introduction or not. Daveth said, "You're the two new fish, then?"

"Fellow recruits," Alistair reminded him, failing to suppress an answering smile. It seemed more Duncan's arrival than Daveth's remark that prompted his good humor, however.

Duncan nodded towards his charges. "May I present Alim Surana of Kinloch Hold, and Jael Mahariel of the Southern Dalish."

Jael barely glanced at the others, but Alim smiled. After traveling with Duncan he had begun to picture the Grey Wardens as a collection of stern, silent men, all with copious beards identical to Duncan’s. It was a relief to find that, so far at least, he was wrong.

"You two can take a seat. I will see the innkeeper about some food. Alistair," Duncan motioned to the other Warden, "if you'll come with me?"

Alistair stepped out and followed Duncan over to the bar.

"Secret Grey Warden business," said Daveth, winking at the two elves.

"No doubt," Alim responded. He removed his pack and tucked his gear against the wall before taking the seat beside Daveth. Jael unburdened himself as well, but with none of Alim's ease. He sat beside Alim, belongings at his feet.

"Well now, I didn't expect the other recruits to be elves,” said Jory.

Alim glanced at Jael but couldn't read his expression beneath the shadow of his hood.

"Neither did we," Alim said with a smile. He had no idea what Jael's reaction to a perceived slight might be in a tavern full of "shems", but it was best not to find out. "I had other plans before Duncan came along."

Daveth laughed. "Didn't we all! Were you conscripted, then?"

"Oh, I didn't say that," said Alim, not willing to venture into territory that had proved so sensitive the night before. “It was just an unexpected turn of events.” He looked up the stairs. “Do we have rooms? I was hoping for a bed but I didn't realize there would be so many people here."

“Most of the folks you see around aren’t local,” Daveth said. “They’re all running from the darkspawn south of us.” He cocked a grin at the elves. “And lucky us, we’re going the other way.” 

"And we do have beds," said Jory. "I didn't think we would find lodging, but it seems the innkeeper has some connection to the Wardens. Once he found out who we were, there was no issue. We have two rooms, and he said he would find us pallets on the floor if we needed them."

"Thank the Maker," Alim said, “I’ll take a pallet over a bedroll.”

Jael stood up, pack in hand. "I'm going to take the lay of this place," he growled. "I'll rejoin you tomorrow." And then he was shouldering his way toward the door.

Daveth watched him go. "Friendly as a scalded cat, that one," he noted, though his tone held more amusement than criticism.

"Leave him be, Daveth. It's just how they are." Jory finished his ale. "I've heard Dalish are good fighters -- and I'd certainly believe it of a big buck like that one -- but you can't expect them to act civilized."

Alim stared at Jory for a moment before Daveth laughed.

"I'm a cut-purse. You win contests by hitting people with a sword. To this one," he gestured at Alim, "We're barely civilized."

Jory grunted and looked away. Daveth winked at Alim, but the mage wasn't ready to let the comment go.

"He's sick," said Alim, "He likely wanted to find somewhere quiet where he could get some rest before tomorrow. Besides, he hasn't been able to eat much, so I don’t think it would be very civilized to make him sit there and watch while we eat." It sounded true enough, even if he doubted that was the real reason for his departure. After several days of dealing with Jael, Alim was not going to let another companion think he was willing to listen to insults.

If Jory was going to make any response, it was cut short by the arrival of food and, shortly after, Duncan and Alistair. Duncan took note of Jael's absence but didn't seem worried. After the meal, Alim excused himself. He had seen the Chantry across the bridge and intended to spend a bit of time in reflection, if it wasn't too crowded.

Alim grabbed his staff, but before he could take his leave Duncan made a request. "If you could keep an eye out for our wayward recruit, it would be appreciated. I doubt he's gone far beyond the village boundaries." 

Once outside the tavern, Alim found himself unexpectedly unsettled by the prospect of navigating the crowd alone. It was less the number of people that disturbed him; after all, meal time in the Tower could be as congested. But the people milling about, uncertain and unguided, with no clear purpose made him uneasy. He pushed past them, over the bridge and through the Chantry’s gate. He, at least, knew where he was going. 

Alim had expected a sense of intimacy when he stepped into the Lothering Chantry. He was wrong. This building was large, the nave alone was several times bigger than the chapel at Kinloch Hold. And while that room had been sparse, years of familiarity had given it a warmth that this building lacked. It made Alim feel out of place, odd in a temple of Andraste. 

It was also filled with refugees sitting in every corner and alcove. The sisters walked through the crowd, engaged in the mundane work of comfort rather than reciting canticles or administering blessings. There would be no peaceful reflection here and, in the midst of more important work, it seemed odd to ask for a blessing. He turned to leave but he'd caught the eye of one of the Sisters.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a manner that suggested she would rather not.

“I'm sorry,” said Alim. “I came to ask for a blessing but,” he looked around, “This may not be the time.”

The sister's expression lightened as she responded, “Ah! I wasn't expecting a… Well, you are always welcome to ask for a blessing. Unfortunately, the Revered Mother is occupied at the moment. You can wait if you'd like.”

He smiled and shook his head. “I'll come back later.” He had already decided he wouldn't. Better to return to his room later to bolster his slipping habit of prayer. Once he was outside the Chantry, he headed to the outskirts of the village to look for Jael.

* * *

Jael found soon enough that the swarming refugees made for slow travel through the village. It was overwhelming to be in the middle of so many shem and elves-at-heel, assaulted by the noise, the jostling crowd, and the stench of road-grimed bodies. A glare from beneath his hood was enough to keep the more alert travelers from crowding him overmuch, but that wasn’t nearly enough to make him feel at ease. He took dull note of possible escape routes should the crowd turn ugly, but it was all in the moment. Fleeing the Wardens had been pushed to the back of his mind as something to be considered at a much later point. For now, his primary concern was rallying long enough to make the journey to Ostagar, three more days down the road. 

A wave of nausea hit Jael with enough force that he staggered and rested, panting, against the soot-stained wall of the smithy. Whether or not he trusted his companions, it hadn’t been the smartest of ideas to head out into the village, weakened as he was. The refugees streaming into Lothering had an intimidating host of troubles to contend with, and each one of those troubles had the potential to become his own if circumstances got any more desperate. Jael didn't want to see how this herd would react to something as commonplace as a rainstorm with the situation as tense as it was. Or an outbreak of even a moderate illness. Or an elf carrying the dreaded Blight.

This time, the nausea that roiled in Jael’s stomach had little to do with his affliction. He straightened up and began making his way toward the open fields as quickly as he could manage. The shems seemed to give him more space now, and a few half-caught whispers alerted him to why. There were Chasind among the crowd of fleeing refugees. The evening shadows, plus his height and the concealing hood of his cloak meant the shems were taking him for a barbarian youth instead of a wild elf. Jael didn't expect that being mistaken for a different breed of savage would allow him any more respect than he’d get otherwise, but fear was almost as good and, more importantly, it hastened his journey.

He stuck to the fringes of the crowd wherever he could as he headed back toward the edge the north gate leading back out of the village. A crowd had gathered around a gibbet cage just beyond the gate, all of them well enough fed that Jael took them for locals. Jael kept his distance, watching from beyond the reach of torchlight, for he was certain the cage had not been there when Duncan had lead them into Lothering. He definitely did not want to be within arm’s reach until he knew what these shem had been hunting. 

The mob paid him no mind. Dozens of voices yelled for justice. The shems threw rocks and beat upon the cage bars with clubs and hoe handles. The cage held. The prisoner, a giant of a man whose features were made indistinct by shadows and flickering torchlight, voiced no response that Jael could hear, neither taunting his captors nor protesting his innocence. Someone yelled an indistinct demand, another yelled for the Chantry mother, and then all the shems were shouting at once.

Jael watched for a moment, then moved on unnoticed. He breathed a thanks to absent gods as he finally made his way to the edge of the tilled farmland and clearer air. There were ragged tents set up even beyond the main settlement, but it seemed far less a risk than sleeping under the same roof as dozens of others. He staked out his own patch under a large tree and sat heavily, his eyes sliding shut against his will. It would be a long three days to Ostagar...

"Are you coming to the inn tonight? Duncan wanted to know." 

The words snapped Jael out of his half-doze. He leapt to his feet, using the tree for support as he reached for his sword, but it was only Alim, several steps away and watching him warily, staff held at the ready. Jael let his hand fall away from his weapon and sat again. Andruil’s mercy, but he was in poor shape. He was lucky it was only Alim who’d woken him and not someone overtly hostile.

“Not that you have to.” Alim approached, then hunkered down to Jael’s level... though still well out of arm’s reach. “I just want to know if I'll get a bed or take the floor.” The smile that followed the words was a strained attempt at politeness, letting Jael know for certain that this being Duncan’s idea was no face-saving lie.

"I would have let you have the bed anyway, healer.” Jael’s hood had fallen back when he’d startled awake; he pulled it up again. “But no, I think it's better I stay out here. The last thing we need is to start spreading the Blight ourselves." He jerked his head back toward the village. "Most of them couldn't hold off a spring cold, ragged as they are."

"It's contagious?" said Alim, looking back at the crowded village. He brought a hand up to rub his brow. "And Duncan already had you walking through the village..." He turned back to Jael. “But then, I’m the healer. I probably should have guessed that might be the case.”

"That shem loves to keep us guessing at where we stand." For a moment, Jael heard the depth of his weariness in his own words, and so forced something closer to his usual gruffness. "I don't know if I can spread it or not. But this… thing, I’ve seen that it corrupts as well as kills, and I would not be surprised if it's made a plague rat of me. So… safer out here than closed in the same box with half the town.” Whether or not he was contagious hadn't been a question worth much thought on the road. He'd had no wish to infect the healer, but if it had happened, at least the Wardens had a cure. There was no such assurance here, no telling how the taint would run rampant through this stressed, half-starved herd. And while Jael didn't care if the shems or their lapdogs died of plague, flood, or starvation, this… this was different. The Blight was an unnatural affliction. He'd seen what just being near that damned mirror had done to the bear in the ruins, seen what his fate would be if the filth inside him was left to run its course. It had to be contained.

"If that's what you think is best.” Alim leaned in, as if he were trying to take better stock of Jael’s condition. “Is there anything I can do before I head back? Anything I can bring out to you?"

"I have everything I need." After a moment, "But thank you. You should go back. You might be able to steal some time to read."

"You're not a werewolf." Both elves looked up at the shrill accusation. Their discussion had distracted them from the approach of the brown-haired elven girl now no more than a few feet away from them. She was a thin, ragged mite and could not have been older than nine. Her hair was in two braids, which were tucked out of the way behind her ears (possibly in anticipation of werewolf slaying). She held a stick of firewood in one hand as if it were a longsword, and had fixed Jael with a suspicious glare.

There wasn’t much Jael could say to the charge except, "No. I'm not." A sly grin knifed across his face as he nodded toward Alim. "But he's a mage, if it will ease your disappointment."

The girl seemed no more impressed with Alim than with Jael. "He is not. Everyone knows that mages live in the Circle Tower, dummy." She regarded them both with a frown. "Are you running north with the others?"

"Aren't you?"

"Naw. We're usually in town, but there's so many of you that they put us out."

"So many of us?" asked Alim. 

The girl nodded. "People running from trouble. Refugees. There's no room anywhere; we even got put out of the stable."

Jael considered the girl from beneath his drooping eyelids. "If everyone else is leaving, maybe your family should consider it, too."

The girl shrugged and took a step or two closer, regarding Alim with some interest now. "Mamae says we should, but Da says we'd have to live in an Alienage if we went someplace bigger, and it would be worse."

"I'm sure your da knows what's best for you," Alim said. His tone was far from patient as he waved the girl toward the tents. "You should probably be getting back to your family now."

The girl took no heed of the dismissal. Instead she leaned in for a closer look at Alim’s robes and staff.

" _Are_ you a mage?"

Alim darted an accusatory scowl Jael’s way. "Yes."

The answer didn't satisfy her. "But mages live in the tower at Calenhad."

"I did live in the tower," said Alim, annoyed. "You should be getting back to your da now, don't you think?"

"Why did you leave the tower?" she insisted.

Jael finally took mercy on Alim. The mage was showing his discomfort plainly now, and, amusing as the interrogation might be, it wasn’t worth letting him be riled until he snapped at the girl. "He's guarding me while we travel. By special permission. So you should get back to your family before I set him on you for keeping me from my rest."

The girl gave them both dirty looks, but took the hint this time. She stomped off toward the sheet-thin tents, makeshift sword still in hand.

Jael snorted. "Don’t worry, healer. I doubt she'll be taken seriously by anyone, talking about werewolves and mages."

"Well, if anyone does take her seriously, I won't be the one sitting out here alone when they come to investigate," said Alim, leaning on his staff. "Is there any reason you call me ‘healer’? It's not really a title. At least in the Circle. It's just something I do."

"It would be a title among my Clan. Not like a Keeper or a First," he added, quickly. "It would not be a rank, but acknowledgment of your skill. It's just...respect." It was borderline embarrassing to grope for explanations about his own people, especially in front of a learned mage. But Jael had been sincere, at least, in his conviction that Alim had a right to know of these things. As of yet, the mage had given him no reason to go back on his word.

"Then you don't need to use the title. Asking spirits for healing is mostly a matter of having a certain gift. Beyond that..." He shrugged, "There are much more skilled healers at the tower. I would prefer Alim if you wouldn't mind."

In truth, Jael did mind losing that wisp of familiar context, but he could hardly claim to be offering respect one minute and then disregard a polite request the next.

"As you like," he said, restraining a tired sigh, "though you are the only healer here, so I would say you're still entitled to it." Silence for a minute or so as the last rays of sunlight vanished behind the standing stonework of the Imperial Highway. "I don't suppose Duncan enlightened you as to what we're going to do at Ostagar?" He didn't like using the name, but they would be traveling with four humans soon. Simply using "the shem" as an address was bound to get confusing.

"At the inn? No. He came to Kinloch Hold looking for mages so I assumed he would be shuffling me over to the same work as the other mages. Beyond that?" He shrugged. "Maybe he'll tell us more now that the others have joined us."

"I might drop dead of shock if he did," Jael said, voice flat and dry. "I don't suppose it matters in the end. I'm only with the Wardens to trade my service for a cure, and then I'll leave. My family needs me more than they do." 

"Is Ostagar your service then?"

"You may well know more about that than me. Duncan's answered none of my questions about that or the Wardens. He may have use for me at Ostagar, he may mean to cure me there. Perhaps neither. It may just be a stop on his path elsewhere." Jael stretched, then settled again, trying to work some of the ache from his joints. "He has his plans and I have mine."

It was probably foolish to confide in the mage. He might run off and tell the shems. But what did it matter if he did? They couldn't watch him forever.

"I hope it works out sooner rather than later for you," Alim sighed. He picked up his staff and stood. "I think I'll go back before it gets too dark. This might be my last chance at a real bed for some time."

Jael nodded in acknowledgement. It was a wise enough plan given the uncertainty of the road ahead. "Ma nuvenin. Sleep well. And try to avoid the shems at the northern entrance if you can. They're worked up about something. No doubt they'll change targets if they can't get at the one they want."

“I’ll be careful.” said Alim before turning away. 

Jael kept half an eye on Alim as he headed back into the village, then hauled himself up into the tree once the mage was well on his way. Sleeping in a tree was not typically comfortable, nor was it particularly intelligent in most circumstances. But it was far better than being out in the open when the shemlen in the area were looking for blood. If that child's family had any sense, they'd be looking for a hiding place of their own. 

Jael made himself a nest among the branches as best he could with his pack and cloak. With that thin pretense at comfort taken care of, he tried to force himself into a light doze. No success. He was awake now, and aware of every ache in his sleep-starved body. Jael sighed and tried to distract himself into sleep by toying with a string of wooden beads wrapped thrice around his wrist. Reluctantly, he unwound the strand for examination. Anything to take his mind off the moment. 

It was his mother's necklace, both in that it had belonged to the woman who had birthed him and that it had been given to him by Ashalle, the only woman who had any right to call herself his mother. He hadn’t had the heart to question Ashalle as he’d been taking leave of her, perhaps forever, but she’d said she’d kept the necklace as a reminder of his mother’s friendship for all these years. Surely it would have been better for her to keep it still, for memory's sake. Maybe she had just wanted him to have some small token of his past to ease his loneliness. Yes, that seemed like her. She’d worried so much whenever he’d gone off on his own before. To have her only child taken into the unknown by a strange shem… bright-eyed Ghilan'nain, that had to be killing her.

Jael shook himself out of those unhappy thoughts and tried to focus on the necklace itself. It was a delicate work of light and dark wood, each bead no larger than a holly berry, and yet each one carved with animals, both familiar and strange, in distinct relief. Jael traced his fingertips over a tiny, bounding halla on a light-hued bead. Two rabbits chased each other around the next. But the one after was a dark bead bearing a breed of large-eared fox he'd never seen before, and the one after that, some beast that seemed a mix of both halla and goat.

He’d never asked much about his mother, or at least, he hadn’t once he’d grown enough to know the truth of his birth. He knew her people were of Clan Mahariel, Drylands Dalish that had migrated south long before he was born. That part of her legacy he could no more escape than he could the dark skin that made him so unique in Clan Sabrae. But perhaps the animals were a part of that legacy as well… creatures from the Antivan deserts that were remembered by Mahariel’s descendents, even if there were none left who’d ever seen one in the flesh. Perhaps it was something he’d know for certain if the woman who’d birthed him hadn’t been such a coward...

Jael scowled and stuffed the necklace as deep into his pack as he could reach. This was idiocy. He needed sleep, not more thoughts crowding his brain. He resettled his gear, then braced himself in the fork of the tree as best he could. His mind was racing anew, but his exhaustion dragged at him ever more heavily and beckoned him down into slumber. Despite everything, he was asleep almost as soon as he shut his eyes.

* * *

Alim wasn't sure that he trusted Jael's caution, framed as it was with his suspicion of humans, but the closer he got to the crowd, the clearer it became that Jael had gauged their mood correctly. 

The focus of their anger was still the giant man locked in a cage. Alim didn’t wonder why the man was confined but instead focused on moving around the mob. He doubted they would bother someone in mage robes but he tried to give them as wide a berth as possible.

"Ay, knife-ear. Where do you think you're going?"

The man was not much taller than Alim, angry and sneering. With his words came the attention of those around him and Alim was suddenly aware of the weight of hostile eyes on him. With Jael’s warning given new weight, it seemed best to push past the man and get through the gate as soon as possible. Unfortunately, another, much larger man reached out and grabbed his arm.

"You aren't going in there tonight, elf. You folk have a place out in the fields." His words were calm and measured; the threat was in his grip and in the angry people who stood behind him.

Alim, fighting the urge to pull his arm away, matched his tone exactly, "I have a room at the inn. Let me pass."

"If you do, you shouldn't. Go back and find a place in the field." The man’s grip tightened, and and he began to pull Alim back from the gate. Despite a momentary flash of anger, Alim didn't resist. The only way to get into the village at this gate, it seemed, would be to have a confrontation of some sort and people, most likely not him, would get hurt. He decided it would be better to simply walk away and hop the fence elsewhere.

"You're brave, I'll give you that," said Daveth, pushing past the people. He put his hand on the large man's shoulder. "You’ve got a Grey Warden mage there. You might want to let him go before he decides he's had enough."

The grip on Alim's arm loosened but only, it seemed, because the man's focus was now on Daveth. He shrugged off the hand, and the calm he'd had previously seemed to crumble. "Keep your hands off me," he hissed.

Alim made a small gesture, a quick, focused tug at the Fade, and a small wisp appeared. It traveled up from his hand to float at the top of his staff. Its light was weak, enough to give him an eerie presence and make it clear that Daveth's words were, at least in part, true. "It's dark, Daveth, I don't imagine they could see my robes."

The hand fell away, and suddenly there was space around Alim. While the crowd retreated, momentarily confused by the appearance of a mage in their midst, Daveth nodded, urging Alim to follow him, "Ostagar in the morning, no good to be standing around here."

Alim dismissed the wisp and followed Daveth through the gate. He managed to keep his grin contained until they were at the tavern door. "Grey Warden?"

Daveth pushed the door open and waved Alim through. "Wasn't sure they'd be any friendlier to a mage then they were to an elf. Besides, won't be so long before that's true."

"I guess not," Alim admitted. "and thank you. You saved me a walk around the village, I think. Or worse."

"Eh, Duncan had me keeping an eye out." They had reached the stairs that led to the rooms and Daveth stopped. "Your room’s the second one on the right. Duncan's in there already..." He looked around at the other patrons of the tavern. "I plan to drink for a bit before we're off to get ourselves killed. I wouldn't mind the company."

“After what just happened, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” The room was crowded with locals, all into their their cups.

But Daveth snorted and grabbed Alim’s elbow to guide him towards the bar. “That was out there. You haven’t been in here most of the evening. Danal was over at the table, telling us all about his Warden grandfather. If he hadn’t brought us free drinks I think I would have been following you out the door.”

“Danal is…?” asked Alim. 

“The owner and proprietor of this inn,” answered the man behind the counter. “A drink? I won’t take coin for yours but you,” he said, pointing a finger at Daveth, “you’ve had more than enough of my goodwill.”

“I’m glad I have my purse then,” said Daveth. 

Despite the fact that Alim hadn’t given him an answer, a mug of ale was set on the bar in front of him. 

“So you’re from Denerim then?” asked Daveth. 

Alim looked at Daveth, startled. “Yes, but how did you guess?”

“Oh, you’ve got a fancy accent but I can hear a bit of Denerim in the corners. Not so easy to sweep away the cobwebs. You’re from the alienage then?”

“I’m from the Circle.” Alim took a drink of his ale, more to avoid Daveth’s question than anything else. Daveth didn’t say anything, letting the silence grow until Alim gave in. “And the alienage,” he sighed. “But I was at the Circle for much longer than I lived in Denerim.”

“No matter. Sometimes it’s a lucky thing that where you start from doesn’t seem to matter much when you look at where you end up. I grew up not to far from here. I wouldn’t be a Grey Warden if I hadn’t left.”

“There you go again,” laughed Alim. 

“Look, we’re as good as, right?” Daveth’s expression turned solemn. “There’s no running away, at least for me. I got myself good and stuck when I tried to nick Duncan’s purse and that’s probably for the best. Protecting Ferelden from darkspawn… Never thought I’d be doing anything like that. Never thought I’d have a chance to do something that important, so if that’s what I’m going to do, then that’s what I am. Might as well decide that right now instead of wait for whatever show Duncan’s got planned for us. ”

It was Alim’s turn to be silent as he considered Daveth’s words. Alim had been committed to joining the Wardens by Duncan’s conscription. What that meant, beyond simply being safe from the Circle’s punishment, was something that hadn’t yet occupied his thoughts.

“Aw shit, now I’m making things serious.” Daveth took a long drink of his ale. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” said Alim. “It’s serious business, isn’t it? Heading off to Ostagar, being a Grey Warden. But now that we’ve made it serious,” Alim slid his mug over to Daveth, “I do have to go let Duncan know about Jael. And some sleep would be nice.”

“So I get the ale instead of the company? Not a bad deal I guess,” said Daveth. “Enjoy your sleep.”

“I intend to. I imagine it’ll be the last bed for quite a while.” Alim turned and climbed the stairs to the rooms, leaving Daveth to finish the drinks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to our editor, Pie, and our beta-readers!

Despite the early hour, the streets of Lothering were packed with refugees that had walked through the night to make it to the first safe haven. Just setting out from the inn was slow going, for the crowd was so tightly pressed in upon itself that even three large men in armor and an obvious mage couldn't command enough room to do more than squeeze through.

"Er, Duncan?" Alistair spoke up as they crossed the bridge on their way to the southern gate. The banks of the river below were packed with people trying to fetch water or wash as best they could for the mud. "I think we're short a recruit. We’ve got the big one, the funny one, and the mage-y one, but we seem to be missing the surly one."

Duncan seemed unconcerned by the news. "We'll catch up to him."

Their marching pace was little more than a walk for the first hour, but at least the highway was in decent repair and the stream of refugees eventually began to thin. And, somehow, between one heartbeat and the next, Jael had fallen into step behind Alim at the tail of their party.

"Did you sleep well?" Jael asked. 

"Not as well as I had hoped," said Alim. "There's not a lot of quiet when your room is over a tavern."

"And that's why you needed a few drinks," Daveth said. He dropped back to walk alongside the elves. “They’d have put you right out."

"And when I woke up? I hardly think I'd be fit for a day of walking."

Daveth said, "Only goes to show you need some practice."

“With the walking or the drinks?” Alim grinned and turned to Jael. "Did you manage to get any sleep? I imagine it was a good deal quieter out there at least."

"I'd wager not." Jael gave Daveth a cold look then turned from him. "Some shemlen came stomping through not long after you left, ransacking camps and looking to teach the knife ears their place. Most of the elves ran to the Chantry, I think, or hid in the fields. I wound up sharing my tree with two of them." The last was said with a grimace.

"After that,” Jael continued, “it seemed a better idea to spend the night further outside the village walls. So I took the long way around and found a bush to sleep under."

Alim’s smile disappeared. “That crowd you warned me about, I had some trouble from them. I wonder if they were the ones...?"

"Likely, if you tweaked their tails getting clear of them." Jael's voice was level, but he gave Alim a quick glance, and Alim wondered if he was being judged. "But it would have happened sooner or later, when food got scarce or they fouled the water too much to use. Or perhaps a thinner excuse than that. When life kicks the shems, they kick down in turn."

"We just made it clear I was a mage and with the Grey Wardens." Alim said. "There were no threats. There was no ‘tweaking’."

"That light you made --" began Daveth.

"It was a wisp, absolutely harmless." Alim looked at Daveth from under furrowed brows. "You'd just told them I was a mage... I should have walked away."

"Assuming they would have let you. But he's right." Jael tilted his shaggy head toward Daveth. "Even if you knew it was harmless magic, half that crowd probably watered themselves from it. And what better way to help their balls drop back into place than to reassure themselves that they weren't really frightened of a knife-ear, just his magic?"

Jael swung his pack off for a moment to dig out a strip of dried meat. "It could have been worse," he said, words muffled around the mouthful of venison he was worrying loose. The bite bulged against one cheek when he spoke next. "You weren't hurt. And no Templars showed up at the inn, did they?"

Alim sighed, letting go of most of what he wanted to say. He had been ready to argue, but the mention of Templars stopped him short. Their last exchange about Templars had drawn a clear line that Alim was no longer prepared to cross.

"I wasn't going to be the one that got hurt, regardless of what happened," he said. That much, at least, his pride wouldn't let go unsaid. Then, to veer as far as possible from any further mention of Templars, "You're eating. Are you feeling any better then?"

Jael cocked his head, as if the question were unexpected.

"I doubt I'll die on you before Ostagar," he said. "But this isn't acting like any sickness I know of. I still ache, but I’m hungry enough to eat a weeks-dead goat, horns and all. As rotten as I feel, the sight of food should be making me ill."

"I wish I knew something about it," Alim said. Duncan, who should know more about this than anyone present, was walking ahead of them with Alistair and Jory, seemingly unconcerned with Jael's condition.

"I'm impressed that you're still on your feet,” Alim said, "I suspect that if it were me, Duncan would have had to roll me into a ditch several days ago."

Jael snorted something that might have been a laugh. "He would have had to get through me."

"Here, is that any way to speak of our illustrious leader?" Daveth cocked a thumb at Duncan. "If the Grey Wardens are as hard up for recruits as they seem, I'm sure he would have at least put Alim here over his shoulder as far as Ostagar."

"I wasn't thinking there would be any point in putting me over his shoulder," Alim laughed. "Or trying to protect me. I'm quite sure a few days of walking while sick would have finished me off for good. If you had seen me the first few days out of the tower, you'd agree."

"Maybe." Jael's brief good humor subsided. "This taint finished off Tamlen. But he didn't have access to a healer's magic. So who knows how you’d have done?"

Jael frowned, and the subject seemed to lose his interest. He drifted back off the road, then vanished into the scrubby woods lining the highway.

"He does that a lot then?" asked Daveth. "Just disappears?"

Alim shrugged, "I don't think I've known him long enough to answer that. A few days isn't long enough to judge 'a lot'."

"And Tamlen...?" Daveth raised an eyebrow.

"Is someone you should ask him about, not me."

"Fair enough!” He pointed an accusatory finger at Alim. "But now you’ve managed to get out of answering two questions. So I want to know, what was it you did last night? With that light?"

Alim smiled. With the finger wagging and the preamble he had thought it would be something more intrusive. Regardless, there was no harm in talking about the wisp. 

Alim made a quick movement with his hand and another wisp appeared. In the daylight it looked much less impressive. "It's a wisp. A spirit of a sort." 

It floated into the space between them and Daveth backed away, looking alarmed. 

Alim quickly dismissed it. "I'm sorry. I should have asked. They really are harmless."

"No, no it's alright. Just… need to get used to that, I guess." He shook his head and moved up beside Alim again. "Do they just make handy lights or something?"

"Or something. They can help with casting magic, make our spells a little more powerful. But that wisp couldn't hurt you. You could have touched it and nothing would have happened."

Daveth considered that for a few moments, staring at the ground ahead of them. Then he nodded towards the hand Alim had summoned the wisp with. "Could you try that again? I think I'd like to take another look."

"Certainly." Alim smiled. Another wisp appeared and, although Daveth looked leery, he didn't shy away. In the company of a friendly mage, his caution about magic turned to curiosity and he peppered Alim with careful questions. And when the discussion eventually turned to small questions about life in the Circle, Alim, not having to step around sensitive subjects, was happy to answer.

* * *

It was generous to call the straggly screen of young trees and undergrowth a forest. The remains of older trees were scattered all around, however -- crumbling, worm-eaten trunks rotting where they had fallen and upended stumps with their spider-leg roots grasping at the sky. The land had been cleared at one point, Jael decided. Maybe to graze herds or plant crops. But it had never been used; the trees lay where they’d died, and there was no sign the soil had ever been tilled. Good. Knowing the land was hostile to shems made him feel a little better.

He kept an ear on the road, tracking the party more by sound than by sight. His brow was fever-warm. The pounding in his head hadn't let up since he’d woken. But worst was that he could only imagine what the corruption was doing to him. He tried to shove the creeping panic to the back of his mind ('Less than three days to Ostagar,' he reminded himself) and focused on the rest of the party again. Duncan continued to be even-toned and secretive, but the others didn’t seem to know how to keep their voices down. Foolish. Especially for Alim, a magic user moving among shemlen. It seemed the previous night hadn’t taught him much.

Jael flicked his gaze back to the surrounding woods. Despite his throbbing bones, he was still starving. Anything to supplement the supplies in his pack would be welcome. But autumn offered a more subtle bounty than summer, and he had little hope of finding much to forage among young trees. He might have been able to pick off something with his bow, but then there was no time to stop and cook it. He’d have to hope for luck.

Despite everything racing through his mind, Jael never turned his attention from the road entirely. He quickened his pace when faint voices warned him that the others were getting too far ahead. And every now and then, he managed to glean something from his companions’ conversations. Jory, the loudest by far, had been a tourney knight in Highever and fool enough to swear away his freedom when Duncan came looking for recruits. From the sounds of it, he hadn't thought far enough beyond his potential glory to realize what was lost when you truly submitted your will to another. He would soon enough, by Jael's measure. For all his loudness, though, Jory might as well have been talking to himself most of the time. It seemed the life of a show fighter had as little overlap with the Wardens as it did with a Circle mage.

Or a shem cutpurse for that matter. Daveth was not near loud as Jory, but between him and Alim, Jael managed to piece together that Daveth had been snatched from execution for a long stretch of thievery. Another one of Duncan’s “recruits” that hadn’t had much choice in joining the Wardens. But for all that he seemed far more aware than Jory, he didn’t seem to be fighting his new tethers any harder. Maybe he was like Alim, happy to have any place to go. Or maybe he was just smarter than either of them and biding his time. He was, after all, a surprisingly attentive audience considering how shems were supposed to react to magic.

Alistair gave him the least to work with. The man stuck to Duncan’s side like a fawn to its mother, but had little to say about himself or the ways of the Wardens on the rare moments a serious word passed his lips. As useless at one end as the other, as hahren Paivel would say.

Jael knew he’d have a much easier time sizing up the others if he rejoined them. But the events of the night before had left him feeling newly edgy at being surrounded by so many shems. Talking to them would mean answering questions in turn. Questions of family and home. No. None of the shems had any right to that. He’d been foolish enough in bringing up Tamlen. Even Alim had a right only to what knowledge one elvhen hunter could carry, not to anything closer to Jael’s heart.

A distant rattle from overhead, like a fall of fair-weather hail stones, caught Jael’s attention. Driven by the renewed growling of his stomach, he tracked the familiar sound to a squat, thick-trunked tree heavy with ripe nuts. Apparently, whichever shems had cleared the woods hadn’t been so foolish as to cut down an obvious food source. Jael stretched, trying to limber his painful limbs, then leapt for the nearest branch and pulled himself up. Picking through the fallen nuts would have been less effort than gathering from the tree itself, but more time consuming. 

There wasn’t time to do much gathering as it was. The wind was picking up, drowning out all sounds save for the rustle of the swaying woods. That was a bad situation to be caught alone in; far too easy to be ambushed. The highway might be simple enough to find again, but Duncan had already shown he wasn’t afraid of taking less obvious paths. 

If he got left behind, he was dead. That simple. 

Jael swung back down with a last handful of nuts gathered to his chest and headed for the road again, resenting every step.

By the time Jael caught up to the rest of the group, they had veered off the largely empty highway for a noon rest. Jael stalked out of the woods, then took a seat beside Alim. He used the other elf as a buffer between himself and Daveth while he fished his bounty out of his pack. Jael pushed his hood back, then offered Alim a handful of dark, round nuts with papery husks still clinging to the base of their stems. Another wisp of the familiar for comfort, he supposed. Back home, he wouldn’t have been gathering only for himself.

"We call these bear nuts," Jael said by way of explanation. He demonstrated how to crack them, lining up the seams of two nuts and squeezing them against each other in his fist until the hulls split, revealing a pearl of nutmeat. "Not much flavor, but they're fattening. I didn’t expect to see them dropping so early. Colder this far south, I guess."

Alim laughed. Despite the morning’s revelation, his easy chatter with Daveth had apparently put him back in good spirits.

"Poor bears," he said with a grin as he took the nuts. He cracked the hulls and popped one into his mouth. "I think I've had these before, maybe in a stuffing or pie? They're good like this though."

"Probably," Daveth said. "If you can't afford potatoes, nutting for those things is a good way to make about anything stretch: stew, pie, filling, whatever you like. Or just taking them by themselves if there's nothing to add them too."

"Or better left alone if you don't actually feel like chancing bears for them," Jael added. "But I didn't see any sign."

Jory looked up from his conversation with an increasingly strained-looking Alistair. "Are there bears out here?"

"More than likely. And all of them looking to make themselves fat for the winter on whatever they can catch." After what seemed like hours of listening to the shem talk about nothing of importance, Jael wasn’t feeling at his most generous.

"Well, that's the three of us safe." Daveth made his declaration with utmost seriousness. "There's not enough meat on me or the mage to interest a bear, and the Dalish knows how to avoid them. So the question is, do bears like potted knight?"

Jory paled a bit, but tried to bluster a response. "A bear wouldn't want to eat armor."

Jael smirked. "But by the time the bear knew about the armor, it would be too late for you, wouldn't it?"

Alim coughed into his hand, but still didn’t quite manage to hide his smile. He aimed a sideways glance Jael’s way. "I don't think we have to worry about bears. They haven't got the balls to attack us." He held up his last bear nut and nodded at the other elf. "Jael collected them all, remember?"

Alistair started to snicker. Daveth shook his head, grinning.

"I thought you mages were supposed to be all educated and cultured."

"Educated, yes." Alim shelled the nut before popping it into his mouth. "Otherwise? It’s years of telling bad jokes and dirty stories in a dormitory after lights out."

The break and joking seemed to relax the rest of the group, but Jael still felt the need for distance. He retreated to the woods once the party started moving again, and didn’t rejoin them until the trees thinned out completely, giving way to overgrown meadows where the ground was still faintly humped with plow furrows. 

It was just as well, as the sun was fast sinking. Duncan called halt while there was still time to set up camp. Not that there was much to their camp, but with their numbers and the proximity of the road it was deemed safe enough to have a fire.

Jael took his turn at gathering wood, but despite the brief closing of ranks to tease their fellow recruit earlier in the day, he maintained his distance. As soon as he’d finished his camp chores, he took a seat on the grass, well clear of the others.

Alistair seemed content to confer with Duncan on the plans for the days ahead. Jory, though worn from the day's march, was insistent that there should be weapons practice of some sort while there was still light out.

Duncan refused him. "When we reach Ostagar, perhaps. The road is a poor place to nurse sparring injuries."

Jory looked as if he would argue the matter, but thought better of it. Denied a chance to practice his skills against another, he moved a bit away and started running through his forms, though with a fair bit of grunting and rattling of armor.

Jael watched critically. While he definitely would not have wanted to be on the receiving end of the shem's two-handed blade, Jory still moved like a bear with a bee in its ear compared to his Clan's warmaster. Seeing nothing on display he hadn't been taught to counter (at least, in theory), Jael pulled a thin, battered book out of his own pack and settled himself more comfortably.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?” Jael glanced up at the question. Alim stood a few paces away, grimoire in one hand. The mage offered Jael a faint smile motioned toward Jory. “I just want to get away from the noise over there for a bit." He gestured back toward the fire as he spoke.

"Might as well use the light while we have it," Jael agreed. He curled his legs beneath him to make room for Alim on his patch of turf.

“I was hoping Duncan would let him spar,” Alim admitted as he settled beside Jael. “I’ve never seen swordplay before. The Templars don’t let us watch them at practice. But I suppose we’ll see more swordplay at Ostagar than even the Templars ever dreamed of.” He smiled at the idea, then pointed at the book in Jael’s hands. “Where did you get that?” 

Jael shrugged. "I picked it up on the road this morning. Someone left it behind, so I suppose it’s mine now. And I haven't read about Orlais before."

"Well...enjoy?" 

"I doubt I will. I've heard much of Orlais, even beyond what they did to the Dales. They were no more gentle with our kind than with the shems when they invaded Ferelden...perhaps worse in some ways." They had not forgotten the Dales either, after all. "But reading is...well, it’s different. And it is good to know things, even if they do not make you happy."

Alim nodded in agreement. An unexpectedly comfortable silence settled over the two of them as they read by the light of fading sun, then the rising moons. Despite his earlier resolve to keep his past to himself, Jael found himself wanting to ask Alim why he’d risked using magic on the road. He wasn’t entirely sure the answer would be worth the cost, though, and he was loathe to interrupt Alim’s reading. He knew from experience just how uncommon it could be to fit in time for such luxury in between the day-to-day duties of keeping yourself and others alive. It wasn't until he heard a quiet sigh from his companion that he looked up again. 

Alim was staring down at the tome on his lap, but his eyes weren’t focused on the page. The faint consternation on the elf’s face seemed directed inward rather than at Jael, but it was hardly a welcome expression. 

"What I said earlier,” Jael said, choosing his words carefully, “I didn’t mean that you could not have defended yourself in Lothering. I don’t hold magic-users in such low esteem as that."

"Thank you," said Alim. "I did wonder. You seemed to be very focused on the fact that I was a healer."

Jael nearly laughed at the words, though he wrestled it back down quickly enough. Gods! He supposed eventually he would stop being startled at how little Alim seemed to think of his gifts, but that time seemed a long way off.

"It may not be worth much fuss where you're from, but the ability to put a broken leg or torn muscle right in an hour is no small thing when your people spend most of the year on the move." Jael considered for a moment, then decided to venture a bit more. Just a little. "Besides, my father was a Keeper and, I'm told, one of the best healers our Clan ever had. He was Keeper Marethari’s student, and she was the one who kept me alive after the corruption tried to take me. So I do have an interest outside of simple respect, I suppose."

"Your father?” Alim looked incredulous. “Your father was a mage?”

“Why so surprised? Magic users have urges the same as everyone else.” Jael nearly laughed again, but a sudden thought killed the notion before it was more than a shudder of breath. “Don’t tell me they geld mages in that tower of yours!”

“Of course not! But we don’t have children. Maker, the tower would be overrun with babies if the Chantry allowed that!”

Jael frowned. “So magic among the shems means no freedom, no love, no family? None of it?”

“Just no babies. I can’t imagine it would be a safe place for them anyway. Seems sensible to me.“

The answer was enough to silence Jael, for he needed a few moments to process the grotesquery of that response. It wasn’t just the lack of children -- he knew too well that not all who could have children should. But to be denied even a choice in the matter, and then so easily dismiss that loss “sensible”? He felt he’d have a better chance understanding what kept the moons and stars in the sky than getting his head around that.

“But Keepers…?” asked Alim, seeming to take Jael’s silence for agreement. “Is that what you call your mages?”

Jael took a deep breath to calm himself. Disgust and pity were a strange meal, and his stomach had only just started feeling something close to normal.

"Some of them,” he said finally. “The ones we look to for guidance and to preserve our lore. The ones training directly under them, the ones who will take over their duties some day, are the Firsts. Other magic users receive training from the Keepers and Firsts. And most choose to follow on the heels of Firsts, in case the First or the Keeper is killed. Others...well, they become hunters or crafters or herders, like the rest of us. But they have magic."

"But what about possession? If they aren’t trained...?” Alim shook his head, obviously troubled by Jael’s words.

Jael cocked his head to one side, wondering at Alim’s haunted expression. What did possession specifically have to do with Keepers rather than the person tempted? "I've heard it's happened before,” he said at last. “But never in my Clan, or not in my lifetime, at least. I'm not trained in a First's disciplines, so I don't entirely know how magic users keep more aggressive spirits at bay." Jael shrugged, feeling, of all things, apologetic. He would have liked to have better answers, especially given how upset Alim seemed to be. He pondered a moment longer, sorting through his knowledge. "Part of it has to do with the land around you, I know that much. When you have too many mages practicing magic in one place over time, the Veil weakens and demons start scratching at the other side, waiting to slip into your dreams. But we're never in one place for very long. We move on, and the barrier has time to restore itself."

"That sounds close to what the Circle teaches," Alim said, although there was uncertainty in his voice. "I can't imagine how it all works, but I would like to see some day."

That was damned unlikely to happen, in Jael's opinion. It was one thing to discuss Dalish ways with another elf. It was entirely another to lead a Chantry cant to a Clan's magic users and hope word didn't find its way back to the Templars. Pity only went so far. Not that it mattered much in the long run, he reminded himself. Alim seemed content to follow wherever these shem were leading, and that wasn’t a path Jael meant to stay on for very long.

"You'd have to find a clan first," Jael said instead. "I don’t think many would linger this far south so late in the year if they had any other choice." He nodded to Alim’s grimoire. "But don't they have books on the Dalish in your Tower?"

"They do," said Alim. "Unfortunately, I never read any of them when I had the chance. I wonder how much use they would be anyway; they're about the Dalish but I doubt any are by a Dalish. It makes a difference who's telling the story, I think."

"It is doubtful we wrote any book in your tower," Jael agreed. "Even apart from keeping the shemlen from taking more of our secrets, we don't have much use for writing day to day."

"Regardless, it's not my tower. Not anymore.” Alim closed his book and stood to leave. Jael made no move to stop him. Alim was undoubtedly longing for his kennel again. 

"I suppose not. Untroubled dreams, Alim."

“And the same to you.” Alim turned and walked back to toward the fire, where Daveth now seemed to be teasing Alistair.

Alone again, Jael went back to his reading. He chewed a strip of meat as he made his halting way through the pages, but nothing seemed to quiet the gnawing in his belly. The book - more specifically, its unflattering depiction of Orlais and its people - was a distraction from too much thought, at least. It occupied him until his weariness overtook him and allowed him rest again.

* * *

The next day passed much the same as the previous, save that they had the road almost entirely to themselves. Anyone planning to leave had done so, it seemed.

Duncan called a halt at just past noon for a break but warned that it would be short. He intended his charges to reach Ostagar with a useful amount of daylight left to them.

Once more, Jael took his rest well away from the others. He had done nothing to reach out to Alim or the others after the first day on the road. The brief warmth of camaraderie only served to remind him what and who he missed, and he’d woken feeling as desolate as he had when his clan had been less than a mile behind him. The throbbing in his bones, the ravenous ache in his gut, and the ever-sharpening edge of fear did nothing to make him feel any more sociable. He was aware that Duncan was keeping an unobtrusive eye on him. Save for an occasional return glare, Jael didn't acknowledge the shem and kept to his own council as ever darker thoughts pressed upon him. 

He didn't want to die, but the unknown festering inside him was something to be feared more than death. Death, at least, would be an ending. The thought that he could simply use his dagger on himself surfaced briefly. He’d withstood the pain of his vallaslin; surely he could manage just a little deeper blood-letting. But no. It would have been a waste. He’d have died having broken an oath to his family. If he just kept walking, there was at least a chance for survival.

"Here, Dalish. What about you?"

Jael looked up as the hail jolted him from his thoughts. He narrowed his eyes at the sight of Ser Jory striding over to where he sat. The damned fool shem was still trying to get others to spar with him, as if he was worried about being out of practice for a grand tourney.

"There's plenty of light out," Jory went on, "and I know how to wrap a sword. It's safe as a couple of boys fighting with sticks." He attempted a smile, somehow both genuine and awkward on his broad, guileless face. "My word of honor, there'll be no putting you up a tree."

There was nothing in Jory’s manner that suggested malice, only a clumsy attempt at a jest and absolutely no sense of when subjects were best left untouched. And it mattered not a wet squirrel fart to Jael, who'd had more than his fill of Wardens, Blights, and shemlen before they'd set foot out of Lothering.

Jael lashed out from his sitting position, aiming his kick for the side of Jory's knee. The heel of his boot struck hard, and Jory yelled as his leg crumpled beneath him. 

In that moment, Jael’s pain was gone, the despair was gone, and his mind was only full of Warmaster Arawnin's lessons. Heavier armor made shemlen look clumsy, but a trained knight could get around in it faster than you would ever suspect. Never underestimate their speed. Drop them. Let the weight of their armor act against them. Go for the gaps in between. Take them down, then take them apart.

Jael was on his feet in an eyeblink. He launched himself at Jory, pinning the heavier man with a knee on his chest, and lending his weight to that of leather and scale to shorten the shem’s breath. The edge of his dar'misu was against the shem’s throat in an instant, just above the curve of the great vein in his neck. Jael could hear Duncan’s footfalls closing in on him and didn't care. He could have slaughtered a shem in full armor in less time than it took to draw a deep breath. The knowledge was elating.

Jael was off Jory and back on his own feet before Duncan got close enough to pull him off. He aimed a smile down at Jory, all teeth and no warmth. "A fine match, shem."

Duncan was not amused. "You're a fool to squander your energy. No matter what you may think, that man is not your enemy. None of us are."

"And yet you look very much like them,” Jael said. His false innocence might as well have been a sneer. “Surely you can't blame a rustic kept in ignorance for being confused."

"Enough!" Duncan's voice was harsh enough that it cut off even Alistair's angry response. "There's a larger threat than you can conceive of on the horizon, and that means there is no room here for disruption. If you wish to leave, do so now. The choice is yours, as it was before."

Jael curled his lip in contempt of that generous reframing of his circumstances, but accepted the rebuke without further backtalk. When the group took to the road again, he held his position at the rear.

A good part of the afternoon passed before any of the party spoke to Jael again. It was Alim who dropped back to walk beside him, but the expression on his face was anything but friendly. There was a simmering anger in his eyes. 

"Why did you do that to Jory?" Alim hissed.

"I could say I didn't appreciate the ‘joke’…” Jael resisted the urge to spit. “...but I'm guessing you wouldn't agree that he deserved a check. So why do you think I did it?"

"Because you didn't appreciate the joke and thought he deserved a check," Alim said, cutting off that line of questioning. "But why did the ‘check’ have to be hurting him and humiliating him?"

Jael blinked and gave Alim a sideways glance, but then decided that no, it was a serious question. He began formulating an actual answer as opposed to the sharp remark that had been dancing on the tip of his tongue.

"The humiliation was like for like,” he said after a moment. “Maybe he thinks being treed by shems who have leave to murder you with impunity is worth brushing off with a laugh, but I don't." Though maybe he should have taken Jory up on the offer previously, in truth. Lashing out had left Jael feeling better than he had in several days. "Though I won't say it wasn't a useful exercise. Perhaps I'll apologize once we're at Ostagar."

"If you're going to wait until Ostagar, don't bother," said Alim. The contempt in his voice was clear. "And don't pretend there was anything ‘like for like' about what you did. He's a lout who's not clever enough to understand when he's made a misstep and you took advantage of that to… I don't even know. Put on some sort of show for the rest of us, judging by the way you yelled at Duncan."

Alim paused but only for a moment. "There's a battle waiting for us at Ostagar. If you're planning on leaving after Duncan gives you the cure then I suggest you do it before the battle, not after. Jory shouldn't have to have someone he can't trust beside him in the fight."

Before Jael could respond, Alim turned away and strode ahead to rejoin the others.

Jael only watched him go. Two days ago, he might have been angry, even hurt over the accusations. But Alim had already proven himself firmly entrenched in shemlen sensibilities. There wasn't anything about the conversation surprising enough to be angry over. Either Alim had gotten the lecture off of his chest or he hadn't, and it wasn't much Jael's concern which at the moment. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Alim didn’t seem to give a damn whether or not Jael had people _he_ could trust to watch his back in battle. That he would have to continue to look out for himself was no surprise either. 

Jael shoved the incident to the back of his mind. He was more concerned with paying attention to Duncan now. He needed to gauge just how desperate the Warden was for useful tools and how far he could push his boundaries.

* * *

They reached Ostagar as the rays from the afternoon sun lit it from the east, throwing long shadows across the valley that cut through the site. The fortress itself seemed pulled up from the stone beneath, with no clear divide between what was built and what had always been. But as they drew closer it became apparent just how worn it was from time and assault. Columns rose to arches that had crumbled long ago and walls stood that supported nothing but the memory of the surrounding structure. Indeed, the great portcullis looked so eaten with rust that it seemed it might shatter, even if it could be lowered. Kinloch Hold was older, Alim knew, but disuse had given Ostagar a feeling of age that not even the bustling troops of the King could exorcise.

"Duncan!" A young man in gilt armor made his way through the path with bold confidence as people parted before him. "All is in readiness for the battle. These are the new recruits, then?"

"Yes, King Cailan." Duncan nodded toward his charges. Jory and Daveth straightened visibly. Jael drew himself up as well, but Alim noticed that his arms stayed tightly folded over his chest.

Cailan made polite greetings to the two humans, then beamed at Jael. "A Dalish! How extraordinary. What an adventure you must have had! Did you ever think you'd meet a king on this journey, good elf?"

Jael's eyes narrowed. "The Dalish have no king, and no shemlen king has ever had a care for the Dalish. I doubt that is likely to change soon."

"Oh." Cailan looked a bit deflated. "Well, I've always admired the Dalish. Even Loghain has spoken praise of your martial prowess." He turned to Alim. "And you hail from the Circle of Magi?"

Alim nodded, intent on displaying some proper manners after Jael’s show of disrespect."Yes, Your Majesty."

"Excellent! We have too few mages here, another is always welcome."

He turned away to talk to Duncan. Alim avoided glaring at Jael in favour of listening to their exchange. Cailan seemed confident of victory in the upcoming battle, Duncan less so. Alim was inclined to trust Duncan's view and wondered if the bright mail and cheerful attitude of the King didn't reflect an unfortunate naivety. Watching Duncan's gaze follow the King when Cailan turned to leave, he suspected Duncan shared that opinion.

The Warden Commander turned back to the recruits, "I have a few things to attend to. Alistair, you can take them to set up the tents and after that, the rest of the day is yours to do with as you see fit. Be respectful of the other parties here, " he gave Jael a pointed look. "Don't get into any trouble," another look, for Daveth this time. "Be back at a decent hour. You'll need your rest for tomorrow."

Alistair led the recruits across the bridge that spanned the divide between the gate and the main fortress. Soldiers manned ballistas at regular intervals. Sections of the bridge disappeared at less regular intervals. Alim took a moment to peek over the edge at the valley where the side of the bridge had long ago been blown away, but Daveth grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back. 

“One bad step and you’re over the edge. Mages can’t fly, can they?”

“Not as far as I know,” answered Alim. “But the roof of Kinloch Hold is higher than this.”

“And you were on the roof? Why in tarnation would you be up on the roof?” Daveth glanced down at the gap but quickly looked back to Alim. It seemed magic wasn’t the only thing that made him nervous. 

Alim grinned. “Big spells. Probably not the sort you’d want to see.”

“Probably,” repeated Daveth. 

On the other side they passed through an archway and into the camp beyond. A single glance told Alim that this could not be where the main host was encamped. The tents that greeted the wardens-to-be were huge, bigger than many of the of the hovels in Lothering. There was no plain canvas here, but bright fabrics in a dizzying array of patterns and colours. Pennants flew above them to mark out which important people were housed within, and the entrances were guarded by soldiers in bright armor, to keep those same important people safe from outside intrusions.

“King Cailan’s tents,” said Alistair, waving a dismissive hand to the gold striped tent to his left left. “Teryn Loghain here, and over there,” he pointed to a blue and grey tent that was no smaller than those of the nobles. “That’s our tent. And by ours, I mean Duncan’s of course.”

He led the group around the back of Duncan’s tent to a pile of poles and folded canvas. “Our accommodations. Not as grand but still a bit of a luxury after bedrolls on the ground.”

Alim, having no idea how to construct a tent, settled for dragging out the supplies to pass to the others and, when that was done, offering a hand to Daveth. In turn, Daveth declared it an excellent learning opportunity for Alim and sat on the grass to direct him as he struggled with his own. 

“Not bad,” said Daveth when Alim declared it finished. “It’s got an odd lean, but it’ll keep the wind out and the rain off.” 

“I hope so,” Alim said. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of a sleeve. The others had finished and the shelters were all huddled close to Duncan’s save for Jael’s. He had erected his at a predictably lonely distance from the rest. Fair enough. He had made it clear in Lothering that he would be leaving the Wardens as soon as possible. It should be no surprise that he persisted in keeping his distance.

“Well, now that that’s done, I think I have a plan for how we might spend the rest of our day.” said Daveth. “Women. We need to find some women."

"That’s not a bad idea," said Alim. He pointed towards several figures in gold robes, climbing a staircase to another section of the camp. "There are Chantry sisters right over there." 

"Not what I had in mind," said Daveth.

“I know, but it’s been too long since I last had a blessing. Or offered a prayer…”

“You’re serious?” 

"I suppose not," sighed Alim, "But I’m not interested in finding women for the purposes I suspect you are and really, don’t you think you'd likely do better with that on your own? Lothering -”

"...was not a camp full of bored soldiers looking for a distraction. Grey Wardens have a certain reputation, especially the elves." Daveth stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the people milling about as if he was surveying a table full of sweets. "Garahel."

"I'm not Garahel and we're not Grey Wardens," Alim said. "I'm fairly certain I've pointed out at least part of that before. Go ahead if you want, I'll head back to the tents."

Daveth sighed. "And condemn you to Jael's cheerful company? Wouldn't be a fair thing to do to my fellow recruit." He scratched his head. "Well then, let's go see what else this camp has to offer."

* * *

For his part, Jael had slipped off to familiarize himself with his temporary surroundings as soon as the tents were up. Duncan had told them almost nothing of what was to come, and that would not sit. Jael had no intention of being caught flat-footed among hundreds of armed and armored shemlen.

The noise of the encampment would have nettled him under ordinary circumstances, but combined with the throbbing in his head it was maddening. He kept his distance as best he could at first, scouting the outer fringes of the fortress and the cliffs upon which it was built. He gradually moved more toward the center of the main camp, slowly growing used to the clamor all around. Once he could stand to be more in the thick of things, he stayed as unobtrusive as possible, scrounging for information. He listened in on what the more seasoned fighters were saying about their odds in battle, kept an eye on escape routes apart from the battered stone bridge, gleaning anything that seemed like it might be useful or give him warning about what his fate would be, but there was little to put him at ease. He had no experience with the sort of fighting these humans seemed to have in mind. Dalish tactics were largely hit-and-run or, if they were forced into a sustained conflict, leaned more toward campaigns built upon ambushes. The very idea of marching out to face an enemy packed in with dozens of others made him restless. The only comforting thought he came up with was that perhaps Wardens weren't expected to march with the King's ranks.

Curiosity and his ongoing hunt took him deeper into the interior of the camp. He paused beside the hound pens in an attempt to avoid three heavily scarred human warriors striding abreast, then found his attention drawn by a sighed lament from a shem wearing a heavy dog collar around his throat.

"This isn't good,” the man mumbled under his breath, tugging unhappily at one ragged ear. His words were met with a low growl from a shaded corner of the pens. “I hate to waste such a promising member of the breed."

Almost despite himself, Jael found his curiosity piqued. Perhaps it was nothing more complicated than the fact that it was the first genuine sympathy he’d heard a shem (or Alim, for that matter) express for anything non-human since he’d started out with Duncan. 

“What do you mean, shem?”

The man turned out to be the king’s kennel master. In return for that half-hearted question, Jael received a full account of the wondrous intelligence, loyalty, and tenacity of mabari war hounds. The lecture was followed by the historical significance of mabari war hounds to Ferelden. And concluded with what a damned shame it was that such a fine bitch, who was smarter than most of the king’s own men, had taken ill after tearing the throat out of the stinking, bile-blooded darkspawn that had killed her master. 

“Poor thing’s sick from grief as much as she is ailing from the poison,” the kennel master finished. “Lashing out at anything that gets too close. Even myself, and I’m just trying to get a drought into her.”

By that point, Jael’s curiosity was exhausted. Perhaps he would have walked on if the human hadn't mentioned that the creature had been poisoned by darkspawn blood. It might not have been just the same as his own affliction, but it was enough to stir Jael's empathy. 

“I’ve spent time observing animals,” he said slowly. “I could try to help.”

The kennel master looked into the pen, then back at Jael. “Well, I’ve nothing to lose. Can’t say the same about you, elf. If that hound nips you, you’ll wind up with the same poison in your veins.”

“That’s not a concern of mine.” Jael’s voice was flat as a lake on a still day.

The human looked at him sideways, but finally nodded in permission. “You can try if you’d like, then.”

The mabari was surprisingly docile as Jael slipped into the fenced pen. She was a muscular creature, a short-coated brindle with a broad, sloping back. Her flanks and shoulders were crossed with recent scars. She only sighed wearily as Jael slid a restraining collar over her head. Jael stroked the ailing creature’s coat as the shem tilted a pungent mix of herbs and charcoal down the dog’s throat. He marveled at the awareness in the dog’s pained, dark eyes. They were forward-facing, predator’s eyes, and yet the intelligence within reminded him very much of the halla his own people so revered. He wondered if she understood what was happening to her any better than he did, if she resented her cage as much as he did his.

“There, that’s done.” The shem stood and moved to the pen door. “Let her loose and give her a bit of rest.”

Jael slipped the collar free, gave the dog one last pat, and made for the exit.

“Hopefully that will do some good,” the kennel master said as he shut the pen. He opened his mouth to say something more, then gave Jael a long, thoughtful look over. “You’re Dalish, aren’t you? You scouting with the forward patrols? What I mean is, are you heading into the wilds any time soon?”

“I’m not here to run errands for your kind,” Jael shot back.

“It’s not for me!” the man protested. “It’s for the dogs. There’s a type of flower that grows in marsh swamps. I can make a medicine from it that’ll improve their chances of fighting off the darkspawn poison.”

Jael’s interest sharpened. If there was something out there that might cure a hound, it could possibly keep his own illness at bay a bit longer. Just in case Duncan had lied about a cure. He was too weary and sore to head out into strange territory immediately and night was coming on besides...but perhaps in the morning, if he rose early and slipped away when no one was looking...

“I’ve got twenty silver as a reward,” the man wheedled. “It’s a white flower with a blood-red center. I mean, there’s no harm in looking around if you’ll be out there anyway, right?”

“I’ll consider it,” was all Jael said before he went back to his scouting.

It was after dark by the time Jael returned to his tent. He arrived just in time to see Daveth totter back toward their sliver of a campsite, supported on Alim’s shoulder and loudly boasting himself the equal of someone called Garahel. Alim held the flap of Daveth’s tent open long enough for the giggly shem to tumble into his bedding. He spared Jael a single, haughty glance before turning back to his own tent, then vanished inside.

Jael ignored the slight. So long as the mage had returned to camp without managing to incite another riot, he could rest easily. He sat beside the fire, the battered book on Orlais in hand, hoping for the luxury of a few minutes spent reading. There were too many unfamiliar sounds all around, however, too much in the way of strangeness and strangers for him to concentrate on the words. Worse, the longer he stayed awake, the more his thoughts lingered on his own uncertain fate. Jael crawled into his tent, set the book beside his bedroll, and curled up for what he sincerely hoped would his first unbroken night of sleep since he'd started this march. It was going to be an early morning if he wanted to slip away to explore the infamous Korcari Wilds.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to our editor, Pie, and our beta-readers!

Morning did see Jael heading off to the Wilds, but not alone and stealthy as he had assumed. Alistair, still bleary-eyed but in full armor, roused them all just after dawn to rise, eat, and equip before assembling them before Duncan. Their commander in turn sent them out in the wilderness to retrieve old Grey Warden treaties that might be useful in reinstating the order in Ferelden and vials of darkspawn blood for which no explanation was forthcoming. Only this time, he sent Alistair to take over as their shepherd. 

Jael said nothing as they were dismissed, only withdrew into the warmth of his cloak. He was still a ball of ravenous misery, but, even so, he had to work to contain his eagerness to get out of camp. He beat the entire party to the gates by several strides, then was up an archer’s platform and over the wall before the guard had finished giving Alistair warning of the dire dangers to be found beyond Ostagar's fortifications.

Once over the wall, Jael took a few moments to savor the brief respite from staring eyes and endless noise. The shem and their followers were behind their walls where they belonged, Jael Mahariel was out in the wildlands where he belonged, and everything was closer to as it should be. The air here was heavy with an approaching storm, but it was free of the stench of unwashed bodies and animal dung. There was a glint of water winking at him through the cover of the trees. A lake perhaps, for he heard no rush of water. He didn’t recognize many of the trees and plants, but hopefully he would have time to investigate the area more thoroughly in his hunt for the hound’s medicine. 

The massive wooden gate groaned open behind him, bringing him back to the present. Alistair's voice followed a moment later.

"Normally, I'd be all for letting someone who isn't me take on scouting duty through a bog," the junior Warden said, his voice soaked in false pleasantry, "but I'd rather not have to tell Duncan I lost a quarter of our recruits to darkspawn or Chasind. Could we quite possibly make an effort to stay with the rest of the group?"

Jael barely looked his way. "If darkspawn are going to carry me off five feet from the gate, you have more pressing matters than losing recruits. Are we going or not?"

Alistair gave Jael a hard look, then shook his head and waved the group on. Alim fell to the back of the group almost at once. Jael’s first instinct was to scoff at Alim for being so petty in his attempts to avoid him, but it died quickly. Even a quick glance gave away the mage’s unease -- the way he turned his head toward every sound, the way his tongue kept stealing out to wet his lips, the too-tight grip on his staff.

At least Alim had enough sense to know this wasn’t the Imperial godsdamned Highway. Jael left him to the keeping of the shems and kept a few strides ahead of them all, scanning the area for red-throated blossoms as much as darkspawn.

They'd gotten barely half a mile from the gates when a chorus of wavering howls split the quiet morning. Jael’s blood ran cold at the sound. He was no stranger to wolves and knew how dangerous a desperate pack could be, but that wasn't what made the hair on back of his neck prickle or his hands go at once to the hilts of his blades. There was a strange note to the howling. It was ragged and breathless and as close as Jael had ever heard to a single scream torn from many throats. And then the beasts slipped out of the undergrowth like wraiths, and there was no time to think of anything except watching his back and making sure he didn't wind up hamstrung.

It wasn't until he got his first look into those jaundiced, bloodshot eyes that Jael truly understood why the wolves were hunting them. They weren't driven to desperate attack by starvation, they were blighted and lost to madness, the same as the bear in the ruins. Ice touched his heart and he lashed out wildly, only just missing a savage snap from a pair of foaming jaws.

The wolves were crazed, but had not lost all cunning. They did not stand in place to be slaughtered, but darted among the fighters, trying to dizzy them and herd them away from each other. A flash of silver light caught Jael’s attention as he turned to slash at a pair of wolves pressing in on him. He dared dart a glance at Alim; the mage was slashing sigils in the air, summoning the power for a spell. The silver light flared brighter, then clung to him in a glistening halo. Another gesture, a breath of scorched air, and lightning arced from Alim’s palms, dropping wolves for the fighters to finish off. 

Alim was not a subtle presence in the battle, however, and his attention was entirely on the targets before him. He was so absorbed in choosing the next spell that he didn't notice the dark shadow stalking him until the wolf lunged for him. The slavering beast reared up, jaws closing on the back of Alim’s neck. Its fangs seemed unable to find purchase in Alim’s flesh, but the force of the charge knocked him forward, sending him face down into the dirt. 

"Alim!" The cry was as much to alert the others as to let the mage know help was coming. He was not going to watch another elf die! Jael jerked his bow free and loosed an arrow at the wolf. He’d taken no time to aim; the arrow drove into the wolf’s shoulder, leaving the beast on its feet. It snapped futilely at the shaft in its flesh, then jerked around to bare its blood-smeared fangs at Jael.

Jael had only an instant to get his guard up before the wolf threw itself at him. Snapping jaws gouged chunks of wood from his bow. The bowstring, severed by a fang, snapped back to welt Jael’s cheek.

Jael dropped the ruined bow but managed to get only his longsword back in hand to fend off the wolf’s next attack. Without his dar’misu, his defense was halved, he dared not meet the charge head on. He sidestepped instead, bringing his sword down on the wolf's back with all his strength. The wolf’s back bowed, and the beast fell, thrashing and snapping wildly. The creature’s death throes drew the attentions of its nearest packmate and, in its madness, the other wolf turned and began tearing at the flesh of its helpless comrade.

Alim scrambled to his feet, spitting out mud and gravel. He stumbled backwards, putting more space between himself and the wolves. Then it was right back to casting spells. Jael allowed himself a single moment, then refocused on keeping his own hide intact. 

It wasn’t until Jory had all but cut the last wolf in two with his huge sword that a truly horrific thought surfaced. 

Jael sprinted for Alim, his fear spiking as he saw blood on the mage’s face. "Did it bite you?" He started to reach for Alim, only just managing to check himself as his hands started to shake.

"Jael." Alistair's voice was unexpectedly gentle. "Even if he's been bitten, it doesn't matter. None of you have to worry about the darkspawn taint after tonight. Let's keep going, all right?"

Jael started to respond with incredulous anger, but caught himself and just nodded instead. The cure. Of course. He turned away to catch his breath, fists clenched at his side. He stared down at the wolf with the broken back, focused on the gaping mess that was left of its throat. It had died with the fangs of a packmate buried in its neck. Again, the reminder that the taint crawling in his veins did not just kill, but corrupted. 

A hoarse cry for help reached them from beyond the screen of undergrowth, and Jael was more than grateful for the distraction.

* * *

They found the last survivor of the previous patrol lying in a pool of his own blood. The exhausted man barely stirred from where he'd collapsed, gasping warning of a darkspawn ambush. Alim knelt and pulled the man’s hand away from his side, but before he could examine the wound underneath, Alistair tapped him on the shoulder.

“Patch him up enough to let him get back to camp. We don’t have time for anything more.”

It was quick work for Alim. Enough magic to stop the bleeding, enough magic to give the man a chance at making it back. 

"An entire patrol," said Ser Jory, watching the soldier leave, "How many are out there? Dozens? Hundreds? There are just four of us..."

"No more than we can handle ourselves," Alistair's tone was reassuring. "If there were more, I would sense them. Part and parcel of being a Grey Warden."

"That's useful," said Daveth, "Can you tell us exactly where they are?"

"Up there," said Alistair, nodding towards the ruins of an ancient arch, "But I'm afraid 'exactly' is a bit beyond me. Jael, you wanted to wander off earlier. Care to see if you can get a little closer and give us some details?"

Jael muttered something under his breath, but stalked forward to scout through the Wilds. He disappeared sooner than Alim would have guessed, somehow finding cover in the spindly trees.

“Spooky how they can disappear like that,” said Jory. 

Alim stayed quiet, deciding that perhaps Jael hadn’t been altogether out of line the day before. A few more days of Jory's comments and Alim might consider something similar himself.

It wasn’t long before the rustling of branches drew the group’s attention and Jael emerged from the trees.

"They're right beneath the arch," Jael said, "finishing up the last of their kills."

Jory looked to Alistair. "We might rescue those people if we hurry..."

Jael shook his head in response. "No. They're dead, if they're lucky."

"Well, this is our opportunity to get what we came for," said Alistair. "Jael, you and Alim go around the arch. Alim, I assume you've got something you could hit them with? Something that would make it a little easier to pick them off...?"

Alim nodded, "A few things."

"Then choose one, just make sure it's not subtle and we'll take that as our signal to attack." Alistair turned to Jael. "You two can join the fun at that point, but make sure Alim doesn't get killed."

Jael led Alim back through the trees, over soft ground and mossy stone that muffled the sound of their passing. The ferric stench of blood reached them well before Alim saw the darkspawn encampment. There were six of them in total. Five were thick-limbed and stunted, standing only a bit over half the height of the humans in their party. The last was bigger than Jory, encased in black armor that was splashed in streaks of drying red. 

The largest of the beasts was occupied with ripping the guts out of a still-twitching woman with its taloned hands. Her companions were already strung up and swinging from the arch, some by ropes made of their own twisted entrails. Alim turned away from the horrific scene in time to notice Jael signal him. The darkspawn hadn't seen them yet and in another moment it wouldn't matter. Alim cast lightning again, but this time it didn't stop with one darkspawn. It forked and jumped to the others, driving them to their knees and giving Alistair and the others their chance.

Jael flashed a fierce smile at Alim, his eyes reflecting the lightning strikes. "Ma serannas," he breathed, then drew his blades as one of the stunted creatures struggled to its feet and closed in on them. The thin screen of vegetation they'd hidden behind was poor cover, especially once it started spitting lightning bolts. Jael broke cover to attack as the monster paused to aim its crossbow at Alim. Jael’s sword smashed the stained shortbow in its hands and his dagger caught it beneath the chin, opening its throat. Beyond Jael, Alistair and Daveth had pinned the big one between them. But that left four converging on Jory, and although the big man might look impressive with the huge sword he wielded, Alim doubted those were good odds.

There was Jael, slipping low into the melee. Faster than Alim could follow, he impaled one of the monsters on his sword. One down, but he’d drawn the attention of the other three darkspawn.

Jael wrenched his sword free and met the next one head-on. One on him, two on Jory. Much better. Alim decided there was no point in letting the fight go on when he could help end it quickly. A quick motion with his hands and frost enveloped the last of the darkspawn, freezing them where they stood. Jael and Jory cut them down with ease. The big warrior was grinning when Alim came to join them.

"That was more my kind of fight," Jory said. "Blades, not teeth and claws."

Alistair nodded as he dug four empty vials out of his belt pouch. "You did well, all of you. Now let's get this part of our excursion over with and go collect the treaties."

He handed out the vials and the recruits bent to collect a small share of darkspawn blood to fill them. Alim hesitated, the implications of collecting the blood having suddenly occurred to him.

"Alim?" Alistair had noticed his hesitation.

"Blood magic?" asked Alim quietly.

"Yes, of a sort," said Alistair keeping his voice low as well. "But it's necessary, like the phylacteries of the Circle. If you're going to be a Warden, you don't have a choice in this."

“The phylacteries? The Grey Wardens know about those?”

“Well, er, Duncan did but… that’s not why I knew. I was a Templar, before Duncan recruited me. Mostly, anyway.”

He looked embarrassed, but more then that, as if he expected a reaction from Alim. And not a kind one. 

“That would explain it,” said Alim. “No worries. I don’t have any problems with Templars. But blood magic -”

“As I said, you don’t have a choice. It’s either this or you don’t become a Warden.”

And not becoming a Warden meant becoming an apostate, forcing Templars to hunt him down so that the Circle could deliver it’s justice. Alim nodded and left to fill his vial. There was time to see what was going to be done with the blood. 

Once everyone was finished they handed the vials back to Alistair and set off in search of the ruins that housed the treaties.

Finding an ancient box of paper within the ruins was, it turned out, much less of a straight-forward endeavor than finding darkspawn. The sun rose ever higher as they made their way through the Wilds, Jael slipping in and out of view as he scouted ahead. He kept them on solid ground and out of the surrounding bogs, something Alim, burdened by a long robe, was thankful for. Several times he came back to report on darkspawn movements, giving Alistair the opportunity to set up ambushes against larger forces. But when he rejoined the party, Alim noticed that he kept an eye on the marshy ground around them and occasionally bent over to pull up a flower.

The sight seemed to amuse Jory. "There's a constant of the world," he remarked, brightening a bit as Jael headed out over a rotten log to collect one of the eye-catching blossoms. "Even in the middle of a blighted swamp, you get wild elves gathering flowers."

The Dalish shot him a look that could have shattered steel. Jory swallowed what else he might have had to say; Daveth smothered a grin.

"Dirthara-ma," Jael growled, then moved away again, leading the way down the latest path.

As soon as Jael seemed out of earshot, Jory edged toward the back of the formation to Alim. "What did he say?" he whispered.

"’Dirthara-ma’ I think," said Alim.

"Yes, but what does that mean?"

"I have no idea. Elvish isn't something the apprentices usually study.”

"You're an elf though," Jory said, looking a little frustrated. "You must have some idea."

"None. None at all. You'll have to ask Jael."

Jory snorted. "Not bloody likely."

Alim thought that was probably the smartest approach Jory could take.

It was well into afternoon by the time they finally made it to the shade and safety of the overgrown, half sunken ruins Duncan had indicated. Alim and Alistair quickly found that the chest they'd come to fetch was half-rotted and empty.

The sound of shod feet on stone jerked their attention deeper into the ruin before they'd had time to do more than realize their misfortune.

"Well, well. What have we here?" A woman's voice, mocking and confident . "Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey."

The woman stepped into the light, sharp and dark-haired, in robes that hid little of her pale skin from view. She gripped a staff that, to Alim, looked uncomfortably like a mage staff. 

"What say you?" she pressed. "Scavenger or intruder?"

Jael drew himself up slightly. "Intruder? And just why are these your Wilds?"

"Because," she said with a dismissive laugh, "I know them as only one who owns them could, can you claim the same?" There was nothing of friendship in her smile as she strode through their party, unafraid. She paused on the crest of a small rise at the edge of the ruin, looking down on them. "I've watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go?' I wondered. 'Why are they here?' And now you disturb ashes none have touched in so long." Her piercing gaze swung to Alim. "Why is that?"

"Don't answer," Alistair murmured. "She looks to be Chasind. And that means others may be nearby."

"You fear barbarians may swoop down upon you?" she scoffed.

"Yes. Swooping is bad," Alistair said, his tone oh so dry.

"She's a witch of the Wilds, she is." Daveth's voice was steady, but his hands stayed near his daggers. "She'll turn us all into toads."

"A witch of the Wilds. Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?" The woman curled her lip, then turned her attention to Jael again. "You there. Dalish are not frightened little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

Her challenge provoked a faint smile from Jael, all the rarer for seeming to hold no mockery, for all that it was aimed at a human. "I am Jael Mahariel of Clan Sabrae. A pleasure to meet you."

His politeness earned him a laugh from the strange woman, as well as startled blinks from Alistair and Jory. "Now there is a proper civil response. And you may call me Morrigan if you wish." She turned her attention back to Alim and Alistair. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest? Something that is here no longer?"

"Here no longer? You stole them, didn't you?" said Alistair, narrowing his eyes, "You're some kind of… sneaky… witch thief!"

It was with a great deal of restraint that Alim managed not to glare at Alistair. Antagonizing the one person who might know something of the missing treaties did not seem like a sound plan.

"How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?" Morrigan challenged.

"Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them."

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish," Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "I am not threatened." She said it softly, but it was clear to Alim, at least, that she thought herself capable of defending herself against the whole of them.

"Can you tell us who removed them?" Alim said before Alistair could respond.

"'Twas my mother, in fact." She shrugged.

"Would you be willing to take us to her?" Alim asked.

Morrigan chuckled. "There is a sensible request. I like you."

"I'd be careful if I were you, " Alistair said, leaning in close to Alim. "First it's 'I like you' then, zap, frog time."

Alistair’s prodding of the woman was one thing, but Alim had fully expected some kind of rebuke for his interference. That the Warden deferred so quickly to a recruit was unsettling.

"Follow me then," said Morrigan, interrupting his thoughts. "If it please you."

She expected an answer from him. Alim looked at Alistair, but the Warden shrugged, seemingly content to let a recruit make this decision. Jory would be no help, and Daveth was doing his best to avoid Morrigan’s attention.

“Jael...?” Alim asked. 

He regarded Alim cooly with bloodshot eyes. “Can you think of another way to get what you want?” he asked. “Short of picking a fight with an unknown enemy on strange ground, that is?”

Apparently, it was up to Alim to say the words. “We’ll follow.” He said it first to the group, uncomfortable and still half-expecting Alistair to speak up. Then he turned to Morrigan. “We’ll follow you to your mother.”

Morrigan said nothing, only offered a smile as cold as the curve of Jael’s short blade and continued walking.

The feeling of unease grew as Morrigan led them deeper into the marsh. The confidence with which she led them through the woods didn’t help, only making Alim ever more aware that he’d put the group firmly at her mercy. Finally, she led them to a clearing. A humble hut, untouched despite the darkspawn stalking the land, stood atop a knot of dry land in the heart of the swamp. An old woman in worn homespun stood before the door, the ragged hem of her dress flapping in the cool breeze.

“Greetings, Mother,” said Morrigan. ”I bring before you five Grey Wardens you who --”

“I see them, girl. Much as I expected.” To Alim, she looked to be of an age with Mab, but her expression, though as sharp and direct as the other woman’s, held a great deal more intelligence.

Alistair snorted. “Are we supposed to believe that you were expecting us?”

Morrigan’s mother rolled an unhurried gaze Alistair’s way. “You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one’s eyes or open one’s arms wide, either way, one’s a fool!”

“She’s a witch, I tell you” Daveth’s whisper to Jory might have gone unheeded, save for a mischievous breeze carrying his words. “We shouldn’t be talking to her!”

“Quiet, Daveth,” Jory hissed back. “If she is a witch, do you really want to make her mad?”

“There’s a smart lad,” said the old woman. 

Both men startled slightly at her words, suddenly aware that they’d been overheard. Alim thought he might have heard Jael snort, but he couldn’t be certain. Morrigan’s mother continued to muse over Jory.

“Sadly irrelevant in the larger scheme of things,” she went on, “but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will. And you…” Her sharp gaze flicked to Alim, then Jael, then Alim again. “Do the elves have a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as your human companions?”

“I have no idea what viewpoint other elves might have,” Alim said carefully, when Jael again seemed disinclined to answer. “And I’m not sure what to believe.”

She bobbed her head once. “A statement that holds more wisdom than it implies. Be always aware…” Her gaze flickered between Alim and Jael again, this time lingering on Jael’s face. “Or is it oblivious? I can never remember. So much about you is uncertain… and yet, I believe.” Her expression lost focus for a moment, her eyes staring past her guests to the depths of the marsh. “Do I?” The faintest gasp for breath, followed with, “Why, it seems I do.”

“So…” Alistair smirked over at Daveth. “This is a dreaded witch of the Wilds?”

Alistair’s manners might be lacking, but Alim was beginning to wonder if his ridicule wasn’t well founded. The old woman's ramblings brought to mind Senior Enchanter Sweeney, a man whose grasp on the here and now was sometimes less than firm. He looked to Jael. There was no derision in his expression, only a steady wariness. 

“‘Witch of the Wilds’ hmm?” Now the old woman’s attention was on her daughter. “Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon!” The last words were crooned, the line between mockery and affection so thin as to be imperceptible… until she began to cackle in amusement.

Morrigan stood ramrod straight. “They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother.”

“True.” In an eyeblink, the old woman was all business. “They came for the treaties, yes? And before you start barking orders…” Very pointedly spoken to Alistair. “...your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these.” 

Alim would have sworn the woman’s hands had been empty a moment before, but when she stepped forward, they held an oiled leather pouch bearing the crest of a rampant griffon.

“You…!” Alistair had squared his shoulders in preparation for argument… and then promptly deflated at the sight of the pouch. “Oh. You... protected them?”

“And why not?” She held the treaties out to Alim. “Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them that this Blight’s threat is greater than they realize!”

“What do you mean, ‘the threat is greater than they realize’?” asked Alim as he took the pouch. He wished there was a straight path through all her rambling.

“Either the threat is more or they realize less. Or perhaps the threat is nothing! Or perhaps they realize nothing!” She laughed. “Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for.”

“Thank you.” He tucked the pouch behind his belt. 

“Time for you to go then.” With that easy dismissal, Morrigan headed for the door of the hut, only to be brought up short by her mother’s words.

“Do not be ridiculous girl. These are your guests.”

Morrigan sighed heavily as she turned to face the would-be Wardens again. “Oh, very well. I will show you out of the woods. Follow me.”

They did, through the Wilds and back to the ruins where they had first met. 

It wasn't until they were tromping back toward Ostagar, treaties in hand, that Alim realized that Morrigan’s mother had never given her name.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jael's prayer is based on this lovely post - http://storyhoard.tumblr.com/post/104213633802/a-prayer-for-your-dalish-characters
> 
> Thank you to Pie, our editor, and to Aubergion who beta read this chapter for us.

Duncan was in conference with representatives from the Circle and the Chantry when the recruits returned from the wilds. His absence gave the recruits the opportunity to wash off the darkspawn blood and clinging mud of the marshes before presenting themselves.

The extra time did little to settle Alim’s unease over the vial of blood nestled in his pack. Blood magic, however Alistair might justify it, was blood magic, and Alim’s stomach turned with the thought that he was about to step over the same threshold Jowan had. But of course, he’d made that step when he had chosen to help Jowan. Now he was simply following the path that choice had made for him and if it led him down roads he would rather not walk, it was his own fault. 

Still, when Duncan returned to their camp, Alim hung back while the others turned in their darkspawn blood.

"Alim?” It was Duncan, his open hand waiting expectantly in the space between them. Alim pulled the vial from his pack and passed it to him.

“And the treaties?” Duncan asked. “Were you successful?”

“We were,” answered Alistair. “Though we did have a strange encounter out there. There was a woman at the old tower. She called herself Morrigan. Her mother had the scrolls. They were both… very odd.”

“Were they Wilder folk?” Duncan asked.

“I don’t think so,” said Alistair. “I think they were apostates in hiding from the Chantry.” Alim noted the glare that Jael shot Alistair from beneath his hood, but Alistair didn’t seem to note his disapproval.

Duncan shook his head. “I know you were a Templar once, Alistair, but Chantry business is not ours. We have the scrolls. Let us focus on the Joining.”

“Yes,” Jael said. “Are you finally going to let us know what we go through with this Joining, or do we follow you blindly to the end?”

“I will not lie; Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later.” Duncan’s tone was laced with regret, but his vague choice of words annoyed Alim. 

“You’re saying that your Joining could kill us,” Jael pressed, not bothering to curb the heat in his tone. For once, Alim shared the feeling. They were on the cusp of becoming Wardens; could he not simply state the truth in plain words?

“As could any darkspawn you might face in battle,” Duncan countered. “You would not have been chosen, however, if I did not think you had a chance to survive.” 

“That’s why you kept it a secret,” said Alim. Kept it a secret despite the fact that three of them were facing death even before Duncan had chosen them.

“If only such secrecy were unnecessary and all understood the necessity of such sacrifice. Sadly, that will never be so.” Duncan took the last vial from Jory, nodding as he accepted it. “Good. I must go and prepare now. We will come and fetch you when the ceremony is ready.”

Jael gave Duncan a look of pure disgust and stepped away from the ring of firelight, and for once, Alim felt he could understand his anger. Duncan’s platitudes, in the face of what was being asked of the recruits, were almost insulting. Duncan left, Alistair in tow.

“Shit. That wasn't anything I wanted to hear,” said Daveth quietly.

Jory grunted at Daventh’s assessment, but otherwise said nothing. He looked entirely poleaxed, clearly still trying to grasp the situation set before him.

Daveth clapped him on the back. “Don't worry. We were fighting darkspawn today, we'll be fighting a whole army of them soon enough. Too many horrible ways for us to die to worry about this one.”

Jory screwed up his face, distracted for the moment. “That’s meant to make me feel better?”

“No. I think for that we’d best turn to drink.” Daveth turned to Alim, offering a smile that seem a bit too casual. “Wouldn't you say?”

Alim nodded, but his gaze slipped over to Jael, separated from the group by the barrier of distance he always kept. He didn't seem to be listening to them, instead staring off toward another part of the camp.

“Give me a moment?”

“That one might need more than a moment,” Daveth sighed as he glanced over at Jael. “And I don’t imagine he’ll want much to do with us after all of this good news.”

“He’s never wanted much to do with us,” said Alim quietly. “But I can’t see letting him wait alone.”

“Might be how he’d prefer it,” Jory spoke up. “I had a dog once, best I ever owned, but he went off by himself to die when the time came.”

Daveth stared. “Andraste’s knickers! I know how you noblefolk get about your hounds, but…”

“What? All I mean is…” Jory groped for words. “Not everyone would want to be bothered in their last hours, maybe not even by people they care for, that’s all. And he certainly doesn’t care for us.”

“Of course,” said Alim, letting anything harsher remain unsaid. At least a dog was a small promotion from rabbit. “But let’s hope it’s not his last hours, or ours. Go have your drink and I’ll join you if I can. If not… “ He held out a hand to Daveth. 

“Ah, now. Don’t be like that.” Daveth gave Alim a quick handshake nonetheless. “It’s not the end of things just yet. Wait and see. But we’ll be here when you’re get tired of the Dalish gnawing your bones.” He tipped Alim a wink. 

Alim couldn’t help the grin. “Save me a drink, then.” He nodded a goodbye to the both of them before walking away. Jael had retreated further into the shadows beyond the fire and Alim wondered if, perhaps, Jory hadn’t been right in some respect. He would find out soon enough.

"Thank you for your help today, with the wolves."

Alim's thanks was met with a look that held nothing but bleak incomprehension. 

"You're welcome,” Jael said at last. “Though I don’t know that it’s worth much. I may have saved you just to have the Wardens kill us both.” He shrugged listlessly. “I'm off to see a shem about a sick dog, if you've nothing better to do."

"Not until Duncan needs us," Alim said. "And the wolves... that was worth quite a bit. I wouldn’t have had a chance at the Joining if the wolves had gotten me first.”

"Being mauled to death by wolves isn't the way I would choose to die, either." Jael snorted quietly. "With my luck, word would somehow get back to my Clan and it would wind up in a Foolish Dalish tale some day."

Jael led Alim to the hound pens, heading right to one of the dogs that had been penned off from the others. The dog was obviously ailing; it barely opened its eyes at their approach, but nothing about its repose seemed peaceful. And there was a faint odor lingering about the pen as well, unidentifiable, but still bringing the horrors of the wilds too mind all too readily.

"Oh, you're back." The kennel master looked from slopping the healthy dogs as the elves approached. He set down the bucket and made his way over. "Did you find what I asked for?"

Jael fished the bundle of red and white flowers he’d gathered out of his pack and handed them over. "I think this is what you wanted." After a moment, "Would your medicine for the dogs work on a person as well?"

"Not unless they've been drinking darkspawn blood. And if even then, it's like to give them an extra day or so at best." The man shook his head. "No use trying to doctor soldiers with dog medicine. The hounds may be smarter than most troops, but they're not built the same."

"I see. Good luck to your dog." Jael turned away but only took a few steps before stopping again. Out of choices, Alim realized. The flower must have offered the last thin shred of hope Jael had of escaping the sentence Duncan had imposed. And if the rest of them had earned that sentence by virtue of choices they had made, the same couldn’t be said of Jael. He had simply fallen ill. He owed nothing to the Wardens and yet was still expected to pay in the most extreme manner possible. Standing this close to Jael, Alim could almost feel the weight of it pressing down, squeezing out everything but sorrow.

He took one regretful last look at the camp’s fire where Daveth and Jory sat, but knew Jael wouldn’t follow him there. The Chantry scaffold was just ahead of them, tucked into a stand of pine trees. Close enough to their tents that they could see when it was time to go but still offering some shelter from the activity of the camp.

"Over there," said Alim, nodding toward the trees. He led a silent Jael to the scaffold and Alim sat on the ground underneath it, his back to the Circle tents he had managed to avoid since they had arrived. "I think I'd rather not listen to Jory right now, if you don't mind."

Jael nodded in agreement and sat. He studied Alim for a bit, folded arms resting on his knees.

"I don't expect you'll want to," he sighed, "but if you decide to run, let me know. I'm no good for escape now, but I might be able to afford you some extra time."

"You're right, I don't want to," said Alim. "Having a chance at being a Warden sounds better than being an apostate on the run. Besides, wolves. I imagine that by the morning, the Templars wouldn't have to worry about hunting me down." He smiled, but Jael didn't return it.

"No, I imagine not. And the road back to Lothering would be too obvious." Jael took a deep breath. “I didn’t want this. I asked… if he’d told me what this meant, I’d have died among my people, even if they'd have had to burn me instead of giving me back to the trees. And now I’m trapped here.” The conversation between them faded to awkward silence. Finally, Jael hauled himself up to one knee and drew his curved dagger. 

Alim wasn’t sure what to make of it when Jael began trimming grass away from a half-hidden rock not larger than a big man’s doubled fists. He was no more enlightened when Jael lay a sliver of dried meat from his pack upon the flattest part of the stone, then wet it with a few drops from his water skin. It wasn’t until Jael held fist his over the rock and pressed the blade to the skin at the back of his hand that it all fell into place. It was an altar and Jael was making an offering of some kind. Food, water, and blood...no, Jael had hesitated. Instead of drawing blood, he cut a wisp of hair from his shaggy, dark head and lay it beside the rest. He stayed upon one knee, head bowed and weapon held before the altar, quiet again for some time before he spoke. 

“Mythal, if you see not fit to preserve me, I ask you to look kindly upon my Clan and avenge them their loss. Elgar'nan, gift me the strength to face this trial, even if I should fall. Dirthamen, grant me the wisdom to clearly see what path lies before me. Andruil, aim me true upon it. Ghilan'nain, make me swift and without hesitation, let my feet fall unerring. Sylaise, guide me back to the hearth of my heart, my one true home. And if none of this may come to pass, I pray, Falon'Din, that you calm my soul, for I shall be in sore need.” After a moment, he half-glanced at Alim, and added, “This I ask for the healer Alim as well, should he require it.”

It seemed Jael had come to the end of his prayer, for he fell quiet again. But just as Alim made up his mind to speak, Jael pressed the fingers of his left hand to the lines tattooed upon the skin of his brow. 

“Fen'Harel, outsider, betrayer, and trickster -- I am listening.” 

Alim waited silently. All around him were the sounds, sights and smells of the camp, and the barely perceptible whisper of his and Jael’s mingled breathing. He had thought to help Jael find some distraction in quiet conversation and fill the time with words, but his prayers stilled Alim. What could words offer when Jael had none of the comfort of knowing he had earned this, of knowing there was nothing to return to? 

Alim reached over and put his hand on Jael's. Perhaps Jael wouldn't welcome it, but it seemed the right thing to offer. And in the face of the hunter's despair, Alim found his own resolve softening. If Jael didn't need the touch, he did.

Jael looked up from his thoughts, a watery smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It doesn’t do to speak of Fen’Harel too close to the other gods,” he explained. “It would just offend everyone, including him.” His gaze dropped to the makeshift altar again. “I can say a longer prayer for you, if you would like."

"No," said Alim, a little too quickly. "I don't mean any insult, it's just... If Andraste favours me I'll pray tomorrow. If not...? Well, I'd rather not have spent my last moments asking for a rescue from a problem I created myself. But thank you." And the thank you was sincere. If he didn’t put much stock in a prayer to gods he didn't follow then he, at least, appreciated Jael's offer.

Jael huffed a laugh down his nose and ran his thumb lightly along the underside of Alim’s smallest finger. "We sometimes need another hand to pull us clear of our own problems. If we survive joining the Wardens, perhaps I'll tell you of the time Tamlen got himself captured by humans."

"Make it a promise," Alim grinned. "And I'll tell you about the time I got captured by humans. Only happened the once and I never did get free of them."

"Paivel - he's one of my Clan's elders - would say to be wary of telling stories that haven't seen their finish yet." The last words had dropped into solemn, deep tone that was so different from Jael’s rough speech that it had to be an imitation of this Paivel. "But I think we could be a little reckless if we dodge that arrow. We'll call it a small celebration."

"Well, I say that if we both get through tonight, there's little use in celebrating if it's going to be small."

Alim's smile faded as he looked toward the tents and noticed Duncan's unmistakable silhouette against the Wardens' fire.

"It's time, I think," he gave Jael's hand a quick squeeze before releasing it to stand. "Let's hope our stories don't see their finish tonight."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

After Jael and Alim rejoined the others, Duncan and Alistair led all of the initiates to the remains of an old temple at the northernmost edge of the fortress. The structure had been the target of bombardment long ago, but even half-smashed, there was still majesty to the graceful archways whose continued existence itself seemed an act of defiance. But more than that, Jael noticed, was that there was no straight line of sight between the heart of the temple and rest of the shemlen camp. A fresh prickle of unease surfaced through his exhaustion, and he caught himself unconsciously moving to block the path between Alim and the shemlen, as he would if he was scouting hostile territory with the other hunters. 

Jael took no comfort in Duncan's prior reassurances that they were likely to survive their initiation, not when he had been willing to lure them along this far in ignorance. One more lie from a shem; he didn't even know why the news had surprised him. The oath he’d made to Keeper Marethari rolled through his mind over and over, and now it seemed nothing but the cruelest of jokes, a bargain worthy of the Dread Wolf -- his best chance to live now seemed to be to throw himself on a shem's knife and hope it missed something vital.

Duncan halted them at the threshold of the final chamber and told them to wait as he and Alistair went on to prepare the final steps of the ritual. And then the four of them were left alone in the shadows, huddled against the chill of the autumn night.

"The more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it," Jory said.

"Are you blubbering again?" There was an uncharacteristic edge to Daveth's voice. Apparently being willing to risk the ritual didn't mean he was entirely at ease about it.

"I want to know why we’re being put through all these damned tests!” Jory snapped back. “I’ve trained for knighthood since I was a boy. Have I not earned my place?"

"Maybe it's tradition," Daveth mocked. "Maybe they're just trying to annoy you."

"None of us like this," growled Jael, hoping to silence them both. He had no patience for either of them now that they’d finally had the good sense to be wary of Duncan’s plans. Too little, too late. "Let's just get it over with."

"All I know is my wife is in Highever with a child on the way," Jory protested. There was more unhappiness than anger in his voice now. "If they had warned me… it just doesn't seem fair."

"Would you have come if they warned you?" Daveth folded his arms over his chest, his gaze demanding more of Jory. "Maybe that's why they don't. The Wardens do what they must, right? I'd sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight."

"We don't know that it will," Jael said, “or that this is even a Blight.” The peace that had come with his prayer dissolved as he was reminded afresh how he'd come to be here and how likely it was they he would die far away from everyone he cared for. "Judging from how much Duncan's kept from us so far, I have a hard time trusting in anything he says now."

"The Grey Wardens have saved the world time and again," Daveth countered. "I figure they know better than anyone what it takes. And you saw those Darkspawn out there," he said, aiming his words at Jory this time. "Wouldn't you die to protect your pretty wife from them?"

That put the big man flat footed again. "I..."

"Maybe we'll die. Maybe we'll all die. But if no one steps forward to stop the Darkspawn, we'll die for sure."

Alim shifted at Jael’s side. Jael frowned, for Alim’s attention was entirely on Daveth. He was practically hanging on the thief’s every word. Alim glanced back at Jael in turn, but whatever he’d been hoping to see in his face, he didn’t seem to find it, for he looked away within a heartbeat. Jael stifled a sigh as he felt that brief connection they’d shared slip away. Too late now for more regrets.

Jory frowned and pulled his gaze from Daveth. He looked toward the northeast with naked longing upon his face. “I've just… never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade.”

The conversation was cut off by Alistair’s arrival. “Everything’s ready,” he said. He offered them the faintest hint of a smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll be with you the whole time.”

He lead them past the final arch, out under the stars and sky, then let them walk ahead while he lingered at the doorway. A ring of broken pillars surrounded a scorched and blasted portico overlooking the gorge isolating Ostagar from the Imperial Highway. The gently arched dome that had once sheltered worshippers had been smashed to fractured columns and shards, but the starlight that filtered down made the ruins gleam with a strange purity. Mist rose from the river far below, obscuring the far side of the gorge and lending the whole scene a strange isolation. Now Jael had to strain just to hear the camp noises that had once been so overwhelming. And in the center of the ruin stood Duncan, barred in shadow with an unadorned silver chalice on a low, stone table beside him.

All Jael could see was the lack of escape.

Duncan spoke. 

“At last we come to the Joining.” His voice steady, but low. Not pitched to carry. “The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of Darkspawn blood and mastered their taint.”

Jory's eyes widened. “We're going to drink the blood of those… creatures?”

Duncan nodded, unmoved by Jory’s disgust.

“As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you,” said Duncan. “This is the source of our power and our victory. Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the Darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon. But not all who drink the blood will survive, and those who do are forever changed. This is why the Joining is a secret. It is the price we pay.

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining," Duncan continued, "but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?”

Alistair stepped forward, head high, and when he spoke, his words were reverent and unwavering. 

“Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you.”

Duncan turned and lifted the chalice from a stone altar behind him. Starshine gleamed on the lip of the cup, but the black, still liquid inside reflected no light. “Daveth, step forward.”

Daveth obeyed without hesitation, took the cup, and drank deeply. His features were twisted in disgust as he passed the chalice back Duncan, but he seemed otherwise unaffected.

But only for a moment. 

In the next breath, Daveth was stumbled back, pushing his hands against his forehead as if he would reach inside to tear something free from within his mind. He seized helplessly, screaming as he collapsed to the stones. 

Jael ripped his gaze away from Daveth’s agony to observe the others. Alim looked to Duncan and Alistair, a helpless question in his gaze, but the shems made no move to help his friend. As Daveth gasped for air in ragged, seemingly endless inhalations that were simply another sort of screaming, Duncan only looked regretful.

"I am sorry, Daveth," was all he said as Daveth’s horrible fight for breath tapered to wet, strangled gurgles, then to silence.

Jael watched in silence, his blood pounding in his ears loudly enough to blot out Duncan’s words. A creeping horror crawled cold under his skin as he stared at the simple silver cup in Duncan’s hands. This was no cure, no purging of the corruption in his blood. All the Wardens meant was to harness it -- to harness him! -- for their own use. Betrayal atop lies. The world wavered for a moment. He heard Tamlen's panicked cries coming from Daveth's slack mouth, a grotesquery that froze him in place. It took Alim pushing him out of the way to snap him back into the present. 

Alim dropped to his knees beside Daveth. Blue light flared up around his hands as he rolled Daveth over, a familiar enough sight to one accustomed to magical healing. And, as quickly as it had appeared, the light faded, the sign of a request denied. There was nothing for the spirits to heal.

Daveth was dead.

"Step forward, Jory.” Duncan, seemingly heedless of Alim’s effort, stepped past Daveth’s remains. He approached Jory, the chalice held in his outstretched hands.

Jory stumbled back and drew his great sword, holding it before him in clear warning.

"I have a wife… a- a child," Jory protested. His broad face had gone utterly ashen, his eyes wide with shock. "Had I known..."

"There is no turning back." Duncan was expressionless. Implacable.

"No. You ask too much! There is no glory in this!" Jory continued to back away, until his boot heel scraped the chipped, blasted stone of the wall at his back. Duncan said no more, only set the chalice aside and unsheathed his sword in a wordless declaration of intent. Jory set his guard and lunged, attempting to take advantage of his superior reach to avoid Duncan’s blade. But Duncan was faster, steadier, and deflected the heavier weapon to one side before driving past Jory's defenses and burying his curved sword deep in his stomach. The blow drove Jory's breath from his body in a fine mist of spit and blood. A twist of Duncan’s blade widened the wound and blood poured forth, as deep and red as if from a torn wine sack. Duncan withdrew, and Jory crumpled with barely a sound, bleeding out his life on the cold floor of the temple while his hand trembled upon the hilt of his sword in a nerveless grip.

"I'm sorry," Duncan intoned, "but the Joining is not yet complete." He reached for the discarded chalice. His fingers left dark smears on the shining surface as he turned to Jael, cup in hand. "You have been called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."

"Submit myself to serve evil, you mean. Yours or the Blight's." It seemed to Jael that his words came from very far away, as if he'd already begun to take leave of his body. Yet he sensed everything around him so clearly. The night breeze on his skin. The mingled, metallic stench of blood and offal. He heard the younger Warden, Alistair, stir at his words and felt his own lip curl in a contemptuous snarl. The boy would stand by and watch a companion slaughtered without a word, but woe betide those who would speak ill of the Grey Wardens in his presence!

"No," Jael said quietly, and drew his sword and dagger. "Come dirty your hands again, shemlen. Maybe I'll give you something to remember me by." He glanced back at Alim for a moment, tense for the sound of Duncan closing the space between them. "Run. Even the wolves would be better than this."

Alim’s gaze was cold. Instead of replying, he made the barest gesture with one hand. Gold light flooded Jael’s vision. He tried to pull away from the painful brightness, but he was frozen in place, unable to even speak. 

Alim stepped closer to the magical prison and its lone captive. 

"This is my choice and you will not interfere." His voice was even, but the flicker of reflected spell light in his eyes hinted at his anger. "The spell will disappear in a moment. Escape if you want, let the Blight take you rather than accept this chance, but you will not interfere with my Joining."

Alim turned and approached Duncan, not waiting for the summons. He hesitated only a moment as the cup was passed into his hands, pausing a moment as if to steel himself, then drank. He staggered before crumpling to ground, but, unlike Daveth, the mage collapsed in near silence. 

The spell faded as Alim began to writhe on the ground. It made no difference, for Duncan had drawn nearer Jael as Alim took the chalice. Now it was his blade at Jael’s neck that held the elf immobile as the last shimmering threads of magic blew away on the night breeze. Jory's blood had left a black sheen on the steel; in the moonlight, Duncan’s eyes were a match for that dark gleam.

"Perhaps the oath of the Wardens means nothing to you," he said evenly. "But I believe you made another to your Keeper that should supersede it. Or would you cast it as lightly aside?"

"You strip the honor from oaths just by speaking of them." But whatever the shem was or was not was irrelevant. If Jael died having abandoned a promise willingly taken, that weight was on his soul, not Duncan's. And if he was to die, it would not be helpless under a stinking shemlen blade. "Bring the cup, damn you."

Duncan withdrew his sword slowly, leaving no mark. "You'll understand this better, given time."

Whether the words held triumph or kindness, Jael was pushed beyond hearing it, almost beyond caring, save for the smoldering anger at the core of his soul. When the cup was passed into his hands, he tossed the blood back without looking at it. It seared a burning patch down his throat, and he collapsed as the aches that had plagued him for days were eclipsed by a blinding white pain. The last sensation to filter through his consciousness was a sickening sense of completion as the world gave way to blackness and he was dragged down into oblivion.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------

"It is finished. Welcome," said Duncan.

Alim could understand those words. They were a sharp contrast from the moments before when the speech (was it speech?) running through his mind had been utterly unintelligible and yet fearfully compelling. Seeing Duncan and Alistair above him was a relief, as were Alistair's next words.

"Two more deaths. In my Joining..."

But Alim stopped listening; two deaths meant Jael had survived as well. He sat up and scanned the floor of the temple and, seeing the hunter lying only a few lengths away, stood and stumbled over to him.

The Dalish elf's dark eyes were open and staring when Alim crouched beside him. The brackish blood of the Joining chalice was still on his lips. His pulse was visibly hammering in his throat, and he was dead weight until Alim took his hand and pulled him into a sit. It was only then that seemed to focus on Alim.

"It's too loud..." he mumbled, rubbing his palm roughly over his wet eyes.

"Give me a moment," said Alim, and the spell was in his mind before he thought better of it. It was small, just something to offer some relief, but considering the last spell he had cast on Jael he thought it prudent to ask permission first.

"I can help a little, if you don't mind. Just a small bit of healing."

He got an unsteady nod in answer. Jael didn't move when Alim applied the healing spell, just a light touch over the pulsing vein in his neck, but flinched away as the spell faded. He said nothing.

"You should both rest while you can," Duncan said quietly. "You'll be needed soon enough, and the task before us will require all the strength the Wardens can muster."

It was an odd thing to hear while Daveth and Jory, full of strength only a short time ago, lay dead on the temple floor. 

The abandoned fire had burned down to coals and sparks. Alim crawled into his tent, grabbed his blanket and returned to the fire to sit near the spot Daveth had occupied not long ago.

"I'm not sure our small celebration is warranted right now," he said. It seemed to him that there should have been some respect paid to the bodies that he could have taken a part in. Something said to honour them. Something beyond I am sorry.

Jael had buried himself deep in the shadows of his wolf cloak as soon as they had returned to their sliver of campsite. 

"No. There's nothing to celebrate."

Alim looked over at Jael, but the hunter's face hidden under the shadow of his hood.

“We're alive and you're healthy,” said Alim. “That's something."

"I'm not sure about the last." There was no cruelty in the words, only the same air of blank disassociation that had hovered about Jael since Alim had brought him around. "Some of it feels different… but not that different. You heard what he said about the taint. I don't know what this is yet, but it it's not a cure. They never had one."

"You're in better shape then Daveth," said Alim. It sounded petty, but they were alive. 

"Are you all right?" Jael was staring at him now.

"Yes," he sighed, "or, I will be after some rest." Jael's question had disarmed him. Daveth might be dead, but Jael wasn't, and he was now the closest thing to a friend that Alim had amongst the Wardens. There might be little point in talking about the other two with him, but there was none in being rude.

"You said you're feeling different… but better as well, I hope?"

"I'm not certain. I ache less, anyway." Jael regarded Alim across from the flames. "I still have those herbs in my pack, if you need help sleeping. It's that or trust to my storytelling."

"You did promise a story," Alim said. "If not a celebration then maybe a distraction?"

"Maybe not the one I promised.” Jael rummaged through the camp gear, filled a small cookpot halfway from his waterskin and hung it up over the coals. He moved as stiffly and warily as if Duncan still stood over him with a drawn sword. "But I'll see what I can do."

Jael settled beside Alim, pushed back his hood, and sat silently for a few moments. Then a faint smile flickered to life in the shadows of the firelight. 

“I think this one will do...” And Jael began to tell Alim a tale centered on an elf he referred to only as “the Foolish Dalish”. He belonged to a clan, Jael explained, that had lost all of their women and were in such a lowly state that they had mules pulling their aravels instead of halla. It soon became clear that, though Jael did not tell the story particularly well, with his voice freshly rough from screaming and now unusually soft, he obviously knew it by heart.

“Plague, death, and mules.” Alim smiled gently. “Sure signs of desperation amongst the Dalish?”

“For certain.” Jael’s tone was serious. “The halla are not mere draft beasts, but our most trusted companions. They’re said to be guides on our most dangerous paths, here and beyond this life. A Clan that has let their halla die, or worse, been abandoned by the herd, loses much of their standing among the People.”

“And they’ve no women either? I hope things get better for them.”

Jael tugged the bottom of Alim’s blanket. “Shall I tell you the story, or leave you wonder?”

“Go on. I’m fairly certain the story is better than anything I could wonder at.”

Jael released his grip on Alim’s bedding and went on with his story, this time about how the Foolish Dalish went hunting and found a camp full of Dalish women with plenty of halla, but no husbands, and how he managed to nearly insult their First by his eagerness almost as soon as they met. The faint smile that had accompanied his teasing had faded again, despite the fact that the tale he was relating was turning into an unexpectedly humorous one.

Alim was loathe to interrupt Jael again, but he couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “And he’s sent out to hunt on his own? Seems to me the clan would be better served by having him stay back and clean up after the mules.”

“A fool has a fool’s luck,” Jael responded lightly. But Alim’s laughter, ill-mannered though it might be, had at least teased another of those small smiles to Jael’s lips. “And that’s always either very bad luck or exceptionally good. Maybe his clan thought they couldn’t get much worse off.”

“True enough, but I’m interrupting again. I’m a very poor listener tonight.” Alim waited for Jael to continue, trying not to think too hard on why that was.

“And here I thought you tower mages were hungry for learning.” Nonetheless, Jael went on with the fool’s adventure, how he arranged for the two clans to meet, but had the First promise that the most beautiful of her tribemates would consider him as a bondmate above all others… and promptly wound up undermining his own scheme by rejecting her when he saw her worn and smeared with the blood of the hunt.

“So what do you think happened then?” This time, it was Jael who interrupted his own story.

“Oh no,” said Alim, shaking his head. “You’re telling the story.”

“And you’re supposed to be listening,” Jael reminded him.

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” But Jael said nothing, only waited for Alim’s answer. “Right,” Alim sighed. “I imagine she wiped off the blood and revealed who she was. And our poor hero was left without a bride?”

Now Jael laughed. “It was a bit more elaborate than that, but yes, and the final kick was she was their Keeper as well. In the end, the Foolish Dalish saved both clans, but was left standing watch alone while everyone else celebrated or went back to warm their aravels in pairs.” 

“Maybe he could curl up with mules? They could give him that much, at least.”

“What makes you think the mules would have him?” With his story ended, Jael left Alim laughing and went over to the hanging pot to start the tea steeping. “It’s good that you managed to laugh at it, though. I’ve never had hahren Paivel’s ease with storytelling.”

"You sounded fine to me, although, you understand the irony of me being a Grey Warden listening to a Dalish elf tell folk tales, don't you?" Alim smiled and sat up in anticipation of the tea. "Not too long ago the Wardens and the Dalish both were as good as folk tales to me. I'm afraid I've got nothing like that to offer you in return."

Jael tied off the herb bundle and set it floating in the bubbling pot. Within seconds, a woodsy, mildly sweet steam began drifting between them, mingling with the smoke from the fire. 

"I wouldn't have expected that," he said slowly. "You lived in a tower full of books, didn't you?"

Alim shrugged. "Too many books. Who has time to read stories when there's a shelf full of texts you're expected to translate or read? If you want a lecture on primal magic, I can give you that. Otherwise," he held his hands up, "I'm empty."

Jael snorted something like a laugh. "Ma serannas, but I stopped chasing magic when it was certain I wasn't going to inherit my father's gifts. But it makes sense. It always seems like there's too much to be done to squeeze in much time for reading."

"’Ma serannas’," tried Alim. It sounded heavy and clunky with his accent, "Is that thank you?"

Jael nodded approval at the attempt nonetheless. "Yes. We lost most of our language under Tevinter, and again to Orlais, but we've managed to preserve some of it. The words that would have seen every day use, especially."

"I think it's remarkable you kept what you did. I know two words: ‘shem’, of course," said Alim, "and I remember ‘hahren’ from before I went to the Circle. A leader, I think? At least that's what it was used for in the Alienage."

Jael was quiet a moment, watching Alim contemplatively. But he nodded at last.

"It's 'elder', but that would mean nearly the same as a leader for you, wouldn't it? Since you're not allowed Keepers?"

"It doesn't mean anything to me," Alim said, a little too quickly. It was odd to hear Jael's use of “you”, as if Alim was a city elf or, perhaps, as if Jael thought there were only two kinds: Dalish and everyone else. "It's just a word I remember. They do have a leader, yes, and maybe that's what the hahren was. I don't know, I never heard the word at the Circle."

Something about Alim’s words provoked a wry, tired laugh from Jael, but there didn’t seem to be any mockery in his voice when he spoke.

"Fine, fine. Do you want to learn more anyway? It might be useful someday."

Alim couldn't imagine how a few bits and pieces of an ancient language would be helpful in any meaningful way, but the conversation was keeping them both from darker thoughts and Alim was loathe to give that up just yet.

"Why not?"

"All right," Jael said, but first he fetched their cups and filled them with the steeped tea. He passed a steaming cup to Alim. "So, to start, if you want to greet a Dalish and you're not sure of each other's intent, or if you were greeting a Keeper or elder, you would use the formal: andaran atish'an. That's one reason the Foolish Dalish made a bad impression - he greeted the First informally."

Alim accepted his cup with thanks and tried out the new word, but again, it tumbled out of his mouth like a stone. 

“Try again,” Jael coaxed. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“Andaran atish’an,” Alim said, but it still felt uncomfortable and clumsy. “I’m quite sure it won’t get much better. You should hear my Orlesian sometime. It’s horrid.”

“They’re a horrid people, so it fits them.” Jael sounded out the word for Alim again. “Once more, then we’ll try another.”

He repeated it once more and this time, said around the smile that Jael’s comment provoked, it seemed to flow a little easier. 

“A marginal improvement?” he asked.

“It was better,” Jael agreed. “You said it like two words, not five. Now for the other side of it: ‘dareth shiral’. It’s usually a farewell. Not just a parting, but a wish for a protection during the journey. Again, for use when you’re being respectful… or if you don’t expect to see someone for a long time.” 

“Dareth shiral,” Alim said. It was a fitting word considering the events of the night. “And if you don’t expect to see them again? Is it the same?”

“The same,” said Jael, then he added, “if they still live. Our words of parting for… for the dead are different.” Jael squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as if pained. “Do you want to learn those?”

Alim shook his head. Jael had guessed the reason behind Alim’s question, but it seemed to be in poor taste to ask him for Dalish words to send off Daveth and Jory. The common tongue had it’s goodbyes. They would be enough.

Alim didn’t find it in him to smile through the rest of the language lesson, but he committed all of the words to memory. He was practicing them under his breath as they finished the last of their tea.

"Ma serannas," he said to Jael when the cups were empty. "It's very generous of you to teach me those words despite how I mangle them."

The attempt coaxed another smile out of the Dalish.

"You're welcome. As I said before, you have a right to know. It's shared history somewhere down the line, if we go back far enough. Perhaps a very long way back in your case,” he teased, “but that makes it no less true.” He rinsed his cup with a bit of water, swirling it around the interior before swallowing it down. "But it's not a hardship either way. You learn quickly."

"It was expected at the Circle," Alim shrugged, "You don't want to be a danger after all." The rest, that he had a right to know anything of Jael's clan and language, he silently dismissed. The more he learned of Jael, the more it seemed the fact that they were both elves was, after all, simply a matter of pointed ears, and Alim guessed that if the Dalish elf was around long enough to learn more about him then he'd likely come to agree. Regardless, in bad circumstances Jael was remarkably good company and Alim hoped he wouldn't be leaving soon.

"I'm heading off for some sleep now. After today… I suspect that whatever Duncan has planned for us, we're going to need our rest.”

Jael chuckled. "Well, let's hope the darkspawn don't see you as a danger. If the Wilds were any indication, you're the sort who can come up with a nasty surprise when underestimated. Sleep well. I imagine I won't outlast you by much."

Alim crawled into his tent to rest, but it wasn’t until he heard Jael retreat to his own tent that his eyes finally closed. It was a small measure of reassurance that the other man would be there when he woke up. Goodbye Jory, he thought as he fell asleep. Dareth shiral, Daveth.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a song in the dark behind his eyes. A single tone deeper than the roots of the oldest oak, or a chorus in perfect pitch, yet always on the verge of splintering. Alternatively seductive and horrific, it promised power, it promised strength, it promised to devour him. And it would pursue him to the paths of the dead and beyond. 

Jael woke in the predawn dark, bathed in a chill sweat as he clawed free of his bedroll.

He wrapped his arms around himself, heart and mind racing as he tried to remember where he was and what had happened.

Ostagar. The Wardens. And the Joining…

The events of the past day flooded back. Jael choked on his next breath, suddenly too sharply aware of where he was. The stench of the shem camp was all around him, trying to crawl down his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his cloak, breathing his own familiar scent until the sense of being trapped lessened. 

He'd lived, he reminded himself. He hadn't broken his promise to Keeper Marethari. That core of sickness, the throbbing ache that he'd carried in his bones and guts for days had faded to memory. He would not become as those wolves in the Wilds, so twisted away from their true nature that they would turn on a dying packmate for the sheer pleasure of it.

He had no idea what he would become now, only that the Wardens meant to use him as a tool.

The Dread Wolf could take them all! From the first, Jael had been allowed to think he was trading service for a cure, when there never had been any hope of a cure at all. He owed these murdering shemlen nothing. As soon as the chance presented itself, he’d leave them behind, for good this time. 

Even as Jael sat up, however, his memories of the night before checked him. Duncan had been willing to murder one of his own recruits to protect the secrets of Grey Warden blood magic. There was no reason to think he’d have any hesitations about tracking Jael down once the Grey Warden business at Ostagar was complete. And… what if he found Jael with his clan and suspected that he’d told them everything? Clan Sabrae was more than a match for one shem, Grey Warden or not, but what if he didn’t come alone? There were never any consequences for the murder of elves at the hands of shemlen, especially not Dalish elves. No one would care if the Grey Wardens slaughtered his entire family to protect their secrets.

Jael clenched his fists at his sides, willing his heart to slow and his breathing to steady. He was acting like a child, scaring himself with might-be’s in the shadows. He was thinking too far ahead. Before anything else, he needed to figure a safe way out of strange territory without being gutted by darkspawn, then he could consider escaping the Wardens.

The Wardens and Alim. Not that there was much of a difference between the two.

Jael finally rose to his feet, shivering briefly as he made his way into the autumn air. Alim had explicitly thrown his lot in with Duncan. And if he was absolutely determined to live and die by the will of whichever shem was holding his leash, well… that was sad, of course. Especially seeing that he had the power to free himself, but would never take the chance. So yes, very sad. Tragic, in a way. But Jael had known from the first night on the road that Alim wouldn’t leave with him, and he knew now that Alim was so tied to his ideas of obedience and penance that he was willing to give up his life for them. There was nothing to be done for him, especially not since it meant Jael would probably wind up imprisoned by magic again for even making the attempt. So it was best to concentrate his efforts on saving his own skin.

Jael had only just pulled on his clothes when he heard a tapping at his tent flap. Alistair, undoubtedly on a mission for his master. What did the Wardens want now?

\------------------

It only took a light tap on the tent flap to wake Alim; his sleep, troubled by dark and muddled dreams, had been thin.

“We're off to meet the King as soon as we eat.” Alistair said from the other side of the fabric. “No time for sleeping in.”

Alim grunted an acknowledgement as he pushed aside his blanket. He'd had enough rest; any extra time in his tent would likely lead him down paths he would rather not explore. Daveth gone, Duncan's sword slick with Jory's blood... things best packed away for now, with other concerns.

The horizon wasn't showing even the faintest blush of pink when Alim stepped out of his tent, whatever the position of the moons said about dawn being near. It was too dark to be awake, but Alim hadn't been this hungry in ages. He was thankful to see the Wardens shoving down a quick breakfast as they stood beside the remnants of the previous night's fire. King or not, he wasn't leaving without eating something. He was reaching for the food when Jael turned to greet him with a nod.

"You're looking better this morning,” said Alim. It was an understatement. Gone was the greyish cast to Jael’s dark skin and the hollows that had previously made his angled features look gaunt. The contrast made Alim realize how sick Jael must have been. 

"You're showing a generous nature by calling it morning. But thank you. Your healing must have helped." Jael ripped into his meat and bread as if he hadn't seen food in a week; whatever had taken hold of Alim’s appetite, it seemed he wasn't alone.

Breakfast disappeared rapidly (though why that was making Alistair smirk so, Alim couldn't have said), and they were lead from their camp. The clandestine meeting was set up very near the ruins of the temple, and Alim couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Daveth’s body. But then, that too probably had much to do with why Duncan had chosen such a secluded location for the Joining. 

The sound of raised voices greeted them as they entered the shadows of the ruin. Within the open-roofed remains of a wide corridor, the king had gathered his council. A long table, all but hidden beneath maps and missives, divided the dim space: Duncan on one side, the Circle representative and Chantry mother on the other. And, arguing nearly chin-to-chin with each other, the King and his head advisor, Teyrn Loghain. It seemed the discussion had started without the junior Wardens, and had gone on long enough for Cailan and Loghain to go well past the point of simple disagreement; Alim and the other Wardens were awash in the argument well before they actually arrived.

“Loghain, my decision is final. I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault.” For all the supposed finality of his decision, the king still glared at Loghain, awaiting more argument. 

Loghain did not disappoint. “You risk too much, Cailan. The Darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines.”

“If that’s the case,” said Cailan, “perhaps we should wait for the Orlesians forces to join us, after all.” There was a note of triumph in his voice; it took no especial wit to see that the king had just offered an alternative he knew would be just as unacceptable.

Loghain sneered. “I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need to Orlesians to defend us.”

Cailan’s smile vanished. “It is not a fool’s notion. Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past. And you will remember who is king!” 

“How fortunate it is that Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century.”

“Then our current forces will have to suffice, won’t they?” Cailan turned his back on Loghain to face Duncan. “Are your men ready for battle?”

Duncan nodded once. “They are, your Majesty.”

Alistair chose that moment to clear his throat, announcing their arrival. The king turned their way, all grace and excited smiles, as if he had not just been in bitter disagreement with a high-ranking advisor and hero of the land.

“And I see the recruits have returned! I understand congratulations are in order.”

Alim did his best to present a passable smile for the King. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Cailan’s return smile outstripped Alim’s like the sun to a candle flame. “Every Grey Warden is needed now, more than ever. This is history in the making and glory everlasting. The bards will be singing of the deeds of the Grey Wardens at Ostagar long after we’ve all gone to dust.”

Jael said nothing, only hung back and fixed the king with a cool, distant stare. 

“Your fascination with glory and legend will be your undoing, Cailan,” Loghain snapped. The teyrn stood rigid over the largest map. “We must attend to reality.”

Cailan shrugged, then stepped over to Loghain, his manner that of man humoring an underling to keep the peace. “Fine. Speak your strategy.” The king leaned over the map, tracing the air just above the paper with one gauntleted finger. “Now… the Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines. And then?”

Loghain breathed out between his teeth. “You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge from cover -- “

Cailan cut Loghain off. “To flank the darkspawn. I remember. This is the tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes?” He straightened up slowly. Young and hale though Cailan might be, his gilded armor still seemed a heavy burden. “Well, who shall light this beacon?”

“I have a few men stationed within the tower. It’s not a dangerous task, but it is vital.”

“Then we should send our best.” Cailan turned to Loghain. “Send Alistair and the new Grey Wardens to see that this is done.”

“I… then we won’t be seeing battle?” It was Alistair who spoke, though he caught himself in the next moment. “Erm... apologies, Majesty. It’s not my place to question.” A pause. “But…”

“We need the beacon,” Duncan said, stepping in quickly as Loghain’s expression grew even darker. “Without it, Loghain’s men will not know when to charge.”

For his part, Cailan seemed to think nothing of a junior warden speaking out of turn. “See?” he turning his smile on Alistair. “Glory for everyone.”

“You rely on these Grey Wardens too much.” Loghain raked his gaze over all of the Wardens,  
lingering on each of them in turn. “Is that truly wise?” Alim couldn’t help but wonder the same thing, although he doubted his concerns were the same as Loghain’s. It seemed a lot to trust to three junior Wardens, two of whom hadn’t even seen a full day in the role. 

“Enough of your conspiracy theories,” Cailan scoffed. “Grey Wardens battle the Blight no matter where they’re from. They’re the one faction here not beholden to the squabbling of a nation’s politics. You could take a lesson from them, Loghain.”

“Your Majesty,” Duncan said swiftly, “you should consider the possibility of the Archdemon appearing.”

“There have been no signs of any dragons in the wilds,” Loghain said, dismissing the concern out of hand. Alim looked to Duncan, trying not to let his surprise show. What exactly was an archdemon? Did Grey Wardens hunt dragons as well as darkspawn?

“And isn’t that what your men are here for, Duncan?” asked Cailan.

“I… yes, Your Majesty,” Duncan said. He let the matter drop, giving the conversation a pause the Circle mage and Chantry mother were eager to exploit. They drew the king’s attention with their own protests, but Alim kept his attention on Cailan's words; the Grey Wardens were expected to deal with dragons, or whatever this archdemon was. It didn't seem to be a secret, both Loghain and Cailan had understood what Duncan was referring to. Perhaps Duncan's habit of secrecy had extended to even basic knowledge. 

“Enough!” Loghain snapped, cutting off the complaints of the representatives almost before their their argument could begin. “The Grey Wardens will light the beacon.”

“Thank you, Loghain.” But the teyrn was already turning away from the table and made no reply to the king. Cailan beamed at Alistair, Alim, and even Jael. “I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil.”

“Yes, Cailan.” Loghain’s words grew fainter with each step. “A truly glorious moment for us all.”

Cailan’s commands were a relief for Alim. Years of training in a cloistered tower, of reading books and practicing in halls and great rooms, had done little to prepare Alim for a battle. Starting a fire? That he could manage. 

"I'm going to read," he said once they reached the Warden camp. It wouldn’t hurt to spend some time in study, in case something more than a fire spell was required. "I'll be over by my tent if you need anything."

"Hopefully you'll be able to settle.” Jael had been distant ever since he’d emerged from his tent. He seemed to have nothing to say about the meet, not even to scoff at the “shemlen” king. “I'll go through my forms for a while. This would be a bad time to fall out of practice." His stomach gurgled in response and he sighed. "After I eat.”

"Food. I think I was fine until you reminded me," Alim said. He dug his book out of his pack and with it, an apple. It looked completely unequal to the task, but he bit into it as he flipped the book open. He paged through until he found what he was looking for - Entropy. Spare notes and crisp pages marked it as a rarely visited section of his grimoire and the dark clouds beginning to gather overhead seemed to reflect his distaste. It was ugly magic that always felt heavy and hateful to shape, but if a mage was about to head into battle, entropy spells might be useful.

It wasn’t until Jael began going through practice movements that Alim looked up again. The swords, flashing as they cut through empty air, were an easy distraction. Alistair noticed as well and after watching for a few minutes, he walked up to Jael.

"Care to try sparring on even footing this time?"

Jael spun sharply to face him and Alim was sure that, despite the difference in size, Jael was about to lay Alistair out as neatly as he had Jory. 

"You have an odd concept of even footing when that was a rested shem in full mail against an ailing elf in leather." Jael brought his weapons up. "But if you like."

"Right, sorry.” Alistair blushed. “I’ll get us some practice blades. Just don't do any damage I can't walk off, all right?"

Jael grunted assent. Once Alistair had returned with the wooden weapons, Jael gave him a quick up-and-down look, then took up his stance. Another moment and the easy distraction would be hard to avoid. Alim hadn’t seen sword play of any sort before Ostagar and he was tempted to put his grimoire down to watch, but if they were sparring in preparation for the battle, then he needed to read. He put his head down and ignored the sounds of feet scuffling in the dirt.

When the blades began to clack against each other, Alim sighed and moved over to sit in front of his tent. The sounds of combat faded into the background, coming closer or moving further from him and Alim did his best to tune them out until there was a sudden, flesh-muffled impact. Jael collided with Alim a moment later, sending both of them back through the canvas flap. Jael came up in a crouch, lip and nose bloodied, glaring back out through the opening. 

From outside: "Oh, Maker! Sorry, I..."

Jael spat something elven (Alim at least recognized the word "fen") and obviously unkind, then launched himself at Alistair again. There was a second impact, the clang of armor, then Alistair's weak, "So, is this a standard Dalish tactic or do you just like sitting on people?"

Frustrated beyond patience, Alim threw his book aside, scrambled to his feet, and stuck his head out of the tent. "Surely there's somewhere else for you two to practice? Somewhere far away from here?"

"Ir abelas," Jael called over his shoulder. He vaulted to his feet, ignoring Alistair’s grunt of protest.  
Alim crawled out and stood up to stretch. "It doesn’t matter. I think I was hoping for too much - quiet, in the middle of this place. Besides, I’m hungry. Again. I don't suppose you've noticed any other changes since the Joining?"

"Some of them still feel too familiar for comfort," Jael confessed. A cold wind knifed through the camp, sending the tents shuddering and billowing. "And I had unsettling dreams last night. That’s not surprising after all we've been through, but there's… a weight to them."

Alim nodded. "There was something right after the Joining, like a dream but… sharper? Clearer? I don't know if that's what you mean."

Jael nodded once. “It didn’t feel like a dream, not until I was awake again."

"Things to ask Duncan about, I suppose," said Alim. Trusting that Jael could look out for himself, he grabbed his cloak and found a place by the remnants of the previous night's fire. Alim didn't share Jael's concerns about the battle, for the them at least. Alistair's disappointment made it clear that their role was no more than a matter of holding a torch. What came after that, he wasn't sure, but at least the three of them would be away from the main fight.

But his lack of concern might simply be his mood. He felt more settled than he had passing his Harrowing and leaving the tower. A test passed, his worth proven and his place earned; just as with the Harrowing. Even thoughts of Jory and Daveth didn't disturb him.

The last was the thought that warned Alim that perhaps he shouldn't trust his sense of calm. The memory of what was done to them shouldn't be so easy to brush aside. Best then to pack up the mood and get a few hours of sleep.

\------------------

It was Jael who woke him, slipping inside the tent to set a hand on his shoulder. "The enemy will be here soon," he said, his words low and quick. Jael was in his armor and cloak, but all Alim had to grab was his staff.

Fog was rising to meet a chill nightfall as he, Jael and Alistair mustered before Duncan. The fire at the center of camp had been rebuilt, and it was far from the only one. The fortress blazed with light: signal fires; torches meant to aid to soldiers manning bows and ballistae along the walls; and campfires tended by grim-faced medics who would be stitching and probing with shadows flickering over their bloody, desperate work. Alim couldn’t imagine a human army daring an attack in such gloom. But the darkspawn were hardly human, were they?

As Duncan began refreshing them on their mission, Alistair renewed his protests about the mission. Why send three Wardens on a trivial task when Teryn Loghain’s men could easily manage on their own?. 

"This is the king’s decision,” was Duncan’s only response. “We will signal you to light the beacon when the time is right. And Alistair will know what to look for."

Jael gave the junior Warden a flat look. "So stay close to us and don't get your head taken off."

"Why, darling!" Alistair's words sparkled with insincere pleasure. "I didn't know you cared!"

Duncan ignored their sniping. "Once you're finished, stay with the teyrn's men and guard the tower and beacon from interference. If you're needed, we'll send word." He took a deep breath. "And if the Archdemon appears, leave it to us. I want no heroics from any of you."

"Of course not!" said Alistair, "We're Grey Wardens after all. Who expects heroics from Grey Wardens?"

Nevermind that Alim had only heard of the archdemon that morning . Maybe that was why Duncan hadn’t mentioned it, to prevent his new wardens from going after it themselves. But there was no more time to wonder: Duncan dismissed them, and Jael pushed past Alistair to take lead.

It was a quick jog through the camp, but when they came to the bridge Alim almost stopped in awe. The bridge was lined with archers at the ready and small crews manning ballistae, but it was the darkness beyond the gorge that drew attention. The darkspawn horde itself couldn't be seen, but Alim could _hear_ them. Shrieks of defiance and roars that could not have come from any human throat echoed in his ears with impossible clarity. Beneath that, the rumble of the relentless darkspawn march toward Cailan’s troops, keeping a ghastly time with the scratching at the back of Alim’s mind. Suddenly the King's optimism before the battle seemed not simply misguided but absolutely reckless.

"We've got to get across,” said Alistair as he tugged at Alim’s arm. Alim hadn't realized he'd slowed and he pulled his gaze from the battle and to race across the bridge. They were almost at the other side when a deafening crack split the air and the bridge shuddered beneath them. This time Alim didn't look. If the battle had begun there was no time to waste.

The trio sprinted breathlessly across the bridge until they reached a wide, shallow set of stone steps marking the path to the tower. They were stopped by two soldiers running towards them.

"You're the Grey Wardens!" one exclaimed after a quick glance at Alistair’s armor. "The tower's been taken. Darkspawn are everywhere!"

"What?" Alistair scowled as the three of them drew up short. "What do you mean, man? Speak sense."

"How could they have broken through the lines already?" Jael asked in the same breath. Alim could feel the foul darkspawn presence scratching at the back of his mind, but he'd thought it was the proximity of so many of the damn things in the gorge below.

A mage dashed up behind the soldiers, his staff gripped in shaking hands. "They came up through the ground." His voice was a match for his grip, but he seemed ready to stand his ground now that he'd found allies. "We're trying to hold them off, but I think they're on every floor!"

"It doesn't matter," Alistair said and drew his sword. "We have to get to that beacon. You." He nodded to the closest soldier. "Carry word to front lines. You two," to the mage and the remaining soldier, "come with us."

He'd barely gotten the words out when the tower doors slammed open, releasing a swarm of darkspawn that fractured as it hit the remaining soldiers. Alistair, Jael, and their newly-acquired fighter stepped to the front at once, forming a shield in front of the mages to meet that first charge. Steel flashed as their forces collided. Black blood splashed on the ground.

Alim fired arcane bolts at the darkspawn while the mage beside him drew a pattern in the air to work a larger spell. A light flashed in front of the tower doors, an anchoring rune under the feet of the enemy, and darkspawn froze in place. As Jael and the others cut them down, the darkspawn still in the doorway began to stumble and a moment later a fire ball landed in the midst of them, igniting what Alim now realized was a grease spell. The blaze engulfed those left standing.

"You're not an archer," hissed the other mage in the lull. Jona, Alim realized, a decade his senior and one of the seven mages Irving had sent to Ostagar. "I have no idea why Irving sent his pet, but you can certainly do better than shooting bolts."

"Precision has its place in combat," Jael growled to Jona, not bothering to lower his voice. "Especially if you can't cast fireballs all night."

"Jael." Alistair's rebuke was quiet, but firm. "We don't have the time or energy for this. Come on. The stairs are this way."

The room beyond the tower’s antechamber showed clearly where the darkspawn had torn through; the upended the stones of the tower floor lay shattered all around, leaving a jagged pit in the center of the room. The fighters took point as the group entered, bracing for the incoming attack as the darkspawn charged them. Again and again, they pressed forward, halting the forward rush of the darkspawn and letting the mages decimate the back ranks of their foes as the pushed their way into the infested tower.

Despite Jona's contempt, Alim appreciated fighting beside someone more experienced. As they climbed the tower, theory was suddenly dragged into real use by Jona's sharp tone and angry rebukes. It wasn't an education by any means, but in the moment, it served. With the seemingly endless supply of darkspawn to cut through on their way to the beacon, it had to.

\------------------

Jael’s arms ached with the strain of swinging his weapons. All of his effort seemed to make no difference against tireless waves of enemies all too eager to spend their lives in the pursuit of the kill. Each time he lowered his blades, the long muscles of his arms quivered with exhaustion. The air was fouled with the stench of blood and the oily smoke rising from the lower levels; each breath seared the lungs.

More darkspawn in the corridor ahead. It hadn’t just been the ground floor -- the entire tower was infested with darkspawn. The three warriors formed up, Alistair and the soldier leading with their shields, Jael stabbing past them at any darkspawn trying to force through their guard. Alim and the shem mage brought up the rear, slinging magic past the fighters into the midst of their foes. More flame, but this time Jael almost welcomed the acrid burn at the back of his throat.

"Maker's breath, there weren't supposed to be any darkspawn here," Alistair spat. 

"Weren't you complaining that you wouldn't get to fight?" asked Alim.

Alistair chuckled despite the chaos and death around them. "I guess that's a silver lining. But we need to hurry. We need to get to the top and light the signal, and this is taking too long."

Jael couldn't disagree with that. If they didn't reach the top of the tower soon, they’d be overwhelmed. They were gaining ground, but it seemed to take an eternity to fight their way through flame and blood, past jagged blades and splintered mismatched shields. Finally, they hacked the last darkspawn defender down and climbed final stairs to the beacon chamber.

A nightmare made flesh squatted upon its haunches in the middle of the tower chamber. Even crouched, the mountainous ogre towered over Alistair. In its massive hands it held a grisly feast: the headless torso of one of the beacon's defenders. Shattered mail still clung to the beast's ragged nails. A single bared breast drooped slack against the slaughtered fighter's denuded ribcage, then vanished in a spray of blood as the beast eagerly crunched down on a mouthful of bone and viscera.

Jael fought down his rising stomach and tightened his grip on his sword. The ogre sniffed the air, then and swung its head toward them with frightening speed. It roared a challenged and rose to its feet; it’s jagged horns threatening to scrape the tower’s ceiling. Jael answered with a bestial snarl, then leapt aside as the beast lowered its head to charge.

Mid-leap, Jael grabbed Alim and let his momentum pull them both from the ogre’s path. Alistair and the soldier threw themselves in the opposite direction. There was no one to save Jona and nowhere for him to run. He disappeared beneath the ogre's feet without even the time to scream before the breath was crushed from his body.

They needed to run, to get out of the ogre's reach, but it was already slowing and preparing to face the fighters again. But the beast had to fight its own weight to turn, and Alim took his chance, pulling away from Jael’s side to cast. Three lines of runes burned into the floor, crossing over each other before flaring bright, then dying just as quickly. It was quick casting, and then the monster was struggling to move at all.

"That won't last!" Alim shouted. He sprinted well out of the ogre’s reach before firing a bolt of magic at the immobilized monster.

The warning wasn't lost on Jael. He fixed his gaze on the beast, steeling his nerves. This was beyond anything Warmaster Arawnin could have prepared him to face, but that didn't matter now. They were all flagging, they were out of time, and this murdering beast stood between them and their goal.

"Ma emma harel." He let the growled defiance build as he charged forward, heart in his throat. The world narrowed to the pounding of his feet on stone, the ogre struggling to free its limbs, and one mad possibility. He gathered himself for a leap, saw the creature's massive hand swinging for him and went limp for the blow. It drove the wind from him in a pained wheeze and set the world flashing red before his eyes, but he managed to drive his dagger into the meat of its arm, anchoring himself as it swing around again. Instead of flying off to smash against the wall, Jael clung tightly as the creature brought him in under its guard.

He gathered his legs beneath him in a desperate surge of energy, braced against the creature's wrist, and launched himself up to drive his sword into the ogre's tiny, jaundiced eye. The ogre thrashed and howled in its death throes; the only recourse Jael had was to close his eyes and hang on as he was shaken like a leaf in a high gale. He felt its teeth scrape his armor, gagged against the rotting, burst-gut stench of its breath. He kept his death grip on his weapons even as the beast crashed lifeless to the stone and the world swam in and out of darkness.

"Fine, leave the hard work to me," said Alistair as he grabbed one of the torches on the wall. He dashed to the beacon torch and thrust it into the waiting pile of wood and dry brush. Fire engulfed the wood at once, rushing and roaring in the way that oil-fed flames did. "I only hope we're not too late."

Jael, still clinging to his weapons as if they were the only things keeping him affixed to the earth, hardly heard him. He uncoiled inch by inch, rising to his knees as Alim approached, but as soon as he tried to stand, a stabbing pain took him back to the ground. 

"Broken ribs," he ground out, wrapping an arm around his side. But the pain at least cleared his swimming vision. His perception sharpened and he started to tear his blades free of the carcass. Their mission had been accomplished, but there might not be a way back out of the tower for any of them. "The tunnel’s still open and there are a hundred darkspawn between us at the bottom of this place. They'll know we're up here. We need to block that door if we can."

"Block the door with what?" asked Alistair. He waved a hand at the empty space behind him. "The only thing I see that's big enough to block them is that ogre's corpse, and the four of us don't have a hope of moving that."

"I think I'd rather try before deciding that," said Alim. 

Jael could hear the heavy, reckless tread of darkspawn on the stairs below. He struggled to his feet, cursing, then limped to the nearest window to look down the side of the tower. The storm that had been threatening since the day before had finally hit, driving wind and rain in through the open windows. The drop was dizzying, the stone glistening slick, but if he hadn't been injured, Jael still might have risked the climb.

It never occurred to him that such an act might be thought cowardly. He'd been taught that the point of a fight was first to protect, then to survive. Dying here was of no use to anyone.

He looked over to Alim. The two shem would never make it down in their heavy armor, and the broken rib biting into his side would drop him one way or another if he made the attempt.

"Can you climb?" he asked softly. "There are handholds along the way. You might manage."

Alim scowled as he put a glowing hand on Jael’s chest. "If there's any comfort in this, it's knowing that this is probably the last time you'll suggest I run away." He nodded at his hand. "This won't be much of a job but it should make it easier to fight."

Jael hissed quietly as the fire in his side was replaced with stabbing cold before fading to numbness. He matched Alim's scowl with one of his own. "And that's the last time you'll use magic to rebuke me, whether we survive this or not," he said as he pulled away. "But keep in mind how useless it would be for your Wardens to lose all four of their recruits here, plus him." He jerked his head toward Alistair.

Jael turned from Alim, put his shoulder to the cooling ogre carcass and shoved. As Alistair had predicted, it didn't so much as budge. He closed his eyes for the space of one breath, then straightened. He could see shadows moving up the wall of the stairwell, hear the mad clamor of the darkspawn drowning out his own heartbeat as they began their charge.

They were out of time.

Beside Jael, Alim swallowed hard and readied his staff. 

“I should have set traps by the door,” he said. It sounded almost like an apology.

Jael, Alistair, and the soldier whose name they had never learned formed up before the door, but there were crossbowmen in the first ranks of the darkspawn. A half dozen bolts found their mark in seconds, and the following charge broke their line like a boot through a winter puddle’s crusting of ice. Alistair took longer to fall than the soldier, despite the horde swarming around him. Alim was already down, his chest full of bolts, hand stubbornly clenched around his staff. 

The spear of a charging darkspawn drove into Jael’s gut with enough force to shove him back against the window, leaving him hanging halfway out into the storm. The darkspawn twisted the weapon, overwhelming Jael with a spectacular agony that caused the world to fade to white. The last thing he felt before the world went dark was rain beating down on his face and the sensation of falling.

\------------------

There were sounds in the dark, and elusive hints of sensation that refused to solidify into anything like an anchor. The murmur of voices. The distant ghost of a touch. It was the high, plinking trickle of water that sank a hook into his consciousness and drew him back into awareness of his body.

Jael sensed the shadow passing before his face and brought up his hand to block. He opened his eyes and immediately found himself locking gazes with the wild, golden eyes of Morrigan, the marsh witch. 

Her eyes flicked from his own to where his hand gripped the sodden rag that she’d brought near his face. 

“You’re welcome to wash yourself,” she said archly, releasing the rag. “Trust me when I say nursemaiding is no passion of mine.”

Jael pushed himself to sit, ignoring the momentary dizziness that came with the swift change in position. Rough blankets folded down onto his lap as he sat up. He was on a thin pallet in an unfamiliar room. Dawnlight filtered through undyed curtains, joining the hearth fire as the only sources of light. The air was thick with cooking and herbcraft, a pall of scents both sharp and sweet that he couldn't begin to break down in this moment.

He glanced to the left, to the right. Alim asleep to one side, an empty spot beyond him, and Morrigan was sitting at Jael’s left. 

“At least mother shall be pleased that your eyes finally opened,” Morrigan said, rising to her feet and walking briskly to a shelf against the nearest wall.

“Where am I?” He could feel the slow caution in his own words. Every instinct said to be very still, for he had no idea how he was alive, how he came to be here, or how he could defend either himself or the slumbering mage. But he was awake now, and there was no chance of escape but to speak, whatever instinct said.

She regarded him over one shoulder for a moment before turning her attention back to the books upon the shelf. “You were injured and mother rescued you. Do you not remember?”

“I... “ Jael frowned, trying to sift through the fragmented recollections of Ostagar. “I remember fighting the darkspawn. I thought they’d killed us.”

“Obviously not.” There was dry amusement in the woman’s tone. “Mother’s rescue was a near thing, true, but what is important is that you all live.”

“All…?”

“You and the Circle mage. And the suspicious, dim-witted one,” said she, adding Alistair as an obvious afterthought. “He woke first and asked the same questions I suspect you shall. To save you some breath: You’ve been here for two days. The fortress is lost. The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. Those he abandoned were massacred, the king, Grey Wardens, and all their followers.”

Jael dropped his gaze to the bedding as he considered his new situation. It seemed he had not had to wait so long for his freedom from the Wardens as he’d thought. Save for Alim and Alistair, there were none left who could even say he had not perished with the rest at Ostagar. He could be on his way home as soon as he was dressed.

And yet…

The memory of the darkspawn sharpened. The purple-black flesh of their faces that didn’t seem quite attached to the bone beneath. The bowel-churning stench of the ogre as it had feasted on the dead shemlen. The shems that had died in horrific agony in the Wilds, strangled by ropes of their own spilled guts.

Jael took a sharp breath and rose to his feet, the rag still clenched in one hand. He was naked; the motion of air against his skin was steadying. Motion distracted from memory. He took the basin that Morrigan had left behind and headed toward the fireplace to handle his bath. The scent of stew on the hearth made his insides squirm, but it was better than sitting still. 

“Your belongings are beside the hearth,” said Morrigan. “Mother asked to see you both when you woke.”

Jael slopped the wet rag over his shoulders. “What does she want? Why rescue us?”

He heard Morrigan coming closer, but still didn’t look her way. “I don’t know. She rarely tells me her plans.”

That was an annoyance, but not a surprise. Jael was by this point all but accustomed to being left in the dark by shemlen with secret agendas. He considered for a moment. 

"Has there been any shemlen activity in the valley at all?"

"No, the darkspawn have it all. And I doubt your delicate inner workings want to know what they're doing to the fallen."

In truth, Jael’s nausea was already retreating before ravenous hunger, but he wanted to finish the conversation -- not to mention his bath -- before he thought of food. What had seemed an easy escape moments before was slowly shaping into yet another complicated tangle of choices.

The rustle of sheets drew all eyes to Alim. The mage was sitting up, blinking at his surroundings.

"So you wake at last." Morrigan's tone bespoke a faint annoyance, as if Alim had arrived late to a study session. "I was beginning to think mother had misjudged your odds of survival."

"Don't badger him," Jael advised her. "He'll start scolding you for making him run away from that fight." Though he spoke to Morrigan, Jael's attention was on Alim, and he found that he couldn’t hold back a smile. Despite his words, he was glad to see Alim alive, awake and, if his own condition was any indication, miraculously whole.

Jael draped the washrag over the lip of the basin and set both aside. A small stack of bowls carved in mismatched styles rested beside the hearth. He snagged one and ladled stew from the hearth pot into it.

"Here. You'll probably want this in a minute." He pushed the bowl into Alim's hands, then retreated back to the fire to dry off and pull on his homespun. There was no mark upon his clothing, he noted. No mends nor bloodstains. "It's been two days for us. Ostagar was overrun by darkspawn, Morrigan says."

"So Morrigan's mother says," she corrected. "Twas not I who plucked you from the tower, you can be sure."

"But the King? The other Grey Wardens?" Alim asked.

"Dead, save the one who was with you in the tower. He is outside and is not taking the news so well as your friend." She nodded to Jael.

"I don't imagine he would," Alim murmured. 

Morrigan waited for a moment, expecting another question from the mage, but when none came she sighed and said, "Eat. Then come speak to mother when you’ve finished. I will let her know that the both of you are awake and healthy."

She exited the hut without even a whisper of sound, leaving Alim and Jael alone.

Alim looked at the bowl for a moment and then put it aside. “I think I’ll wash first. It’s been too long.”

It took a cautious step or two before Alim seemed to steady on his feet. Then he went to the hearth, took up Jael’s abandoned basin, and began to scrub himself with unexpected vigor for one just snatched from Falon’Din’s keeping.

With nothing better to do, Jael donned his armor. He did manage to keep from staring at Alim's bared torso as the mage washed, but it took some effort to stow his curiosity. He didn't think he'd ever seen an elf even half Alim's age unmarked by hardship. Certainly he was different from the shem-lands elves who'd found refuge with Clan Sabrae over the years. Those elves were often more sunmarked or scarred than his own people from years spent toiling for the shemlen with no Keeper to heal them.

"I don't know how much I can tell you," he said finally. The damp ends of his hair clung to his neck like lake weed; he brushed them to one side. "The last thing I remember is being gutted by darkspawn. I wasn't awake that long before you were." A pause. "How are you feeling?"

Alim shrugged, running his fingers through his hair before working it back into his usual braid. "Hungry, as predicted. Other than that… I've never seen healing like this.” He reached for his robes, pausing a moment to look them over. “Not even a scar. You?"

Jael glanced away from Alim's distracting smoothness. The desire to satisfy his curiosity through touch was disconcerting. "Not outside the tales of Elvhenan. It seems… more than healing somehow. There's no mark on my armor, nor your robes. They aren't just mended, they're made whole… made new, I would say. That armor was lent to me by one of our master craftsmen, and it had seen battle before. Now I would swear it had just had the last leaf sewn onto it."

Jael shook his head; it was too much to think of right now. "At any rate, I'm glad you made it through. I think there's a long road ahead of us, and it would be more lonesome than need be without company."

Alim glanced up from fastening his robes. "Does that mean you're staying with us? I thought you would be heading back to your clan."

"I wanted to protect my family from this corruption." Jael frowned as any distracting thoughts about Alim fled his mind. "But all the Dalish of Ferelden might not have turned back the darkspawn that gathered at Ostagar. And I saw no sign of this archdemon, did you?" He began pacing as his thoughts came faster. "So that either means Cailan was correct in this being no true Blight… or this was only a fragment of the forces that creature can muster. One more warrior among the Dalish would make no difference against so many, but perhaps one more Warden against an archdemon will." He turned and offered Alim a tense smile. "And if I live, perhaps I can go home after."

“I hope you can,” said Alim, his relief obvious. “But I’m glad you’ll be with us. Defeating the archdemon is one thing, hunting it down with only Alistair for company is a different matter.” 

“We’ll need him anyway.” Jael grimaced. “We don’t know enough about what Wardens are supposed to do during a Blight to make it on our own.”

"I wonder how much _he_ knows."

Jael snorted. "It’s worth wondering over. He seemed happy to let Duncan take point in almost everything."

"He'll be lost,” Alim said quietly. "And we're in here, discussing him rather than out there with him." Alim waved a hand at the door. "Shall we?"

Jael checked his weapons, then nodded. "We might as well. We'll get nowhere waiting here."

The Wilds were waking as they stepped outside. A pale, newly risen sun barely penetrated the morning mist, and the autumn air turned the damp still clinging to Jael's skin to a cold caress. He shivered slightly, but didn't retreat to the warmth of the hut. This was good. A reminder that he was alive and this was not all some strange distraction on the paths of the dead. 

Alistair was not hard to find; he stood only a few feet from the door, armored already, staring out over the marsh that threatened to swallow up the land to the hut's very doorstep. Morrigan’s mother, their host and seeming savior, stood a bit away from him. She nodded at the two elves as they emerged.

"See?" said she at Jael's approach. "Here are your fellow Grey Wardens. You worry too much, young man."

Jael had his doubts that he had been the one Alistair had worried over, but the naked relief on the shem's face coaxed him to hold back any reply he might have made to that effect. It was not by any particularly high regard for Alistair's feelings that he managed it, however, but the growing awareness that he would need allies for this coming task. Alim wouldn't be enough.

"You… you're alive. When I saw..." Alistair's words were an awed whisper. "I thought you were both dead for sure."

"We’re fine,” said Jael. He gestured at Alim, and the bowl of stew the mage held in his hands still. “We even had a chance to wash and eat." It was the right thing to say. To hear that they’d indulged in such mundane tasks visibly reassured Alistair… but his expression crumpled in the next heartbeat. Jael finally noticed the redness of Alistair's eyes and the dried tears streaking his face.

"Duncan's dead," Alistair managed. "The Grey Wardens. Even the King… they're all dead. It doesn't seem real. And if it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead atop that tower."

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad." There was amusement threaded through the old woman's rebuke nonetheless.

"I didn't mean..." Alistair stammered. "But what do we call you? You never told us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

Jael lost Alistair's response in his own startlement. "Asha’bel’annar," he whispered. The woman of many years. An immortal legend among the Dalish… and not a particularly friendly one.

Flemeth laughed in response, but the amusement that had softened her rebuke to Alistair retreated like worms into rotting wood. "Two names for the speaking of one? Very generous, lad. But you should be careful in giving gifts unasked for."

"Abelas..." The apology was as automatic as his next breath. His head was spinning too much for anything more. Perhaps any other day, perhaps among his own people, he could have absorbed the presence of a near-mythical figure, but not so much here.

"I've missed something." Alim said. “Two names?”

"A moment of meaningless distinctions." Flemeth turned, catching Alim up in her gimlet gaze as well. "I know a bit of magic and it has served you all well, has it not?"

"Yes." Jael swallowed hard. He tamped down on the desire to back away, instead moving to stand beside Alim. "We're not ungrateful, Flemeth, but why did you rescue us?"

"Well," she said briskly, "we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn. It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight." The old woman raked Jael with her too-knowing eyes, giving the very real impression that his insides were once more exposed to light, though in a less literal sense. "Or did that change when I was not looking?"

"The land's hardly united, thanks to Loghain." Anger flashed across Alistair's face like lightning in the heart of a storm. "Did they tell you two? He quit the field when the beacon was lit. He left Duncan, King Cailan and all of our people to be slaughtered!"

"I know, but it makes no sense," Jael protested. "Why would he do it? He saw what they were up against. Now he'll just have to fight the darkspawn again, with fewer warriors."

"Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature." The high calls of marsh loons echoed in the distance, an eerie chorus in seeming support of Flemeth's judgement. "Perhaps he believes the Blight to be an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The archdemon." Jael’s gut tightened. Even if Duncan's assessment of the Blight was still in question, that of Asha’bel’annar was not.

"What exactly is the archdemon?" Alim asked Flemeth.

"It is said that long ago, the Maker sent the Old Gods of the ancient Tevinter Imperium to slumber in prisons deep beneath the surface,” she replied. “An archdemon is an Old God awakened and tainted by the Darkspawn. Believe that or not, history says it's a fearful and immortal thing. And only fools ignore history."

Alim nodded. "Then we need to find that archdemon.”

"By ourselves?" Alistair asked despairingly. "No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without the armies of a half dozen nations at their back. Not to mention that I don't know how."

"How to kill the archdemon? Or how to raise an army? It seems to me those are two different questions." Flemeth fixed her gaze on Alistair. "Have the Grey Wardens no allies these days?"

"I… I don't know," Alistair said. "Duncan said that the Grey Wardens of Orlais had been called. And Arl Eamon would never stand for this, surely. And he wasn't at Ostagar. He’ll still have all his men!" Alistair grew more animated as he talked, hope taking root where there had been none. "And he was Cailan's uncle! He's a good man, respected at the Landsmeet. We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help."

"Such determination." Flemeth nodded approvingly. "How intriguing."

"And there are the treaties," added Alim.

"Of course!" cried Alistair. "We can demand help from the dwarves, mages, elves, and the bannorn! They are obligated to help us in a Blight!"

"That sounds like an army to me," said Flemeth.

"Can we do this?" Alistair turned to the elves. "Go to Redcliffe and these other places and build an army?"

Jael raised one dark eyebrow. "You're the most experienced Warden here. Shouldn't you be the one deciding?"

"Ah… no." Alistair actually took a small step back at the suggestion. "I haven't been with the Wardens that much longer than you have. I really think it would be better if someone else took charge here."

Jael shook his head in disbelief, then turned to Alim. "That 'someone else' should probably be me, then. I'm the closest thing we have to a Warleader, and this wouldn't be my first time keeping others safe through the wilderness." Of course, those "others" had been trained Dalish hunters within a day or two's march of their Clan, not a shrinking shem and a Circle mage in unfamiliar territory. But what were their choices otherwise?

"If we’re going to build an army, we need to decide where we're going first," Alim pointed out, looking from Jael to Alistair and back. "And then, yes, I think you're probably the one to get us there, Jael."

Jael nodded his acknowledgement. His first thought, unsurprisingly, was that they should bypass this arl and head to the Brecelian further north. To the Dalish. Not only was Jael homesick down to his bones, but now those bones were being gnawed by fresh curiosity. He was no First, not even a very good storyteller, but he'd studied the lore of the clans more deeply than most hunters. He'd never heard any history or tale recounting circumstances so dire that the Dalish had willingly bound themselves to the service of shemlen. It was against all that they stood for, and he wanted to hear this tale from a Keeper or elder, not a shem who was both a liar and had likely been fed lies.

But those thoughts were barely half a step ahead of a hard reality: he had no way of knowing where his Clan was, nor any other for that matter. Yes, he could guess several routes his people might have taken after being rousted from an autumn camp, but he couldn't say with certainty which one they’d take, and time spent in chasing them down might be time they couldn't afford to waste. Beyond that, he realized, their party was unprovisioned. Their packs and tents had been at Ostagar. Even if they were not despoiled, there was no way to recover them from the heart of a darkspawn horde.

His mother's necklace had been in his pack.

Jael pushed the thought away, shoving it down as another, more urgent concern rose to take its place.

“It’s going to be difficult getting anyone to honor those treaties if we can’t produce them,” he said. “The last I saw, Duncan had charge of them.”

“Not so difficult at all,” Flemeth assured him. Her hands had been empty a moment before. Jael was certain of that. But now she held out the leather pouch with its griffon crest, as before, seemingly conjured from thin air.

“Where did you get those?” Alistair demanded. His hands were clenched at his sides, voice taut with emotion.

Flemeth only regarded him impassively. “Don’t ask questions you don’t truly want answered, boy. These are the required articles. Take them and move on while you still can.”

It was Alim that stepped forward to grab the treaties and tuck the pouch under his belt. “I’d like to read those before too long: I might as well carry them.” 

"We should probably head for Redcliffe to start," Jael said finally. "If Alistair is in this Arl's good graces, it's the place we're most likely to find a friendly welcome, and the one with most interest in news of the king's fall."

"His voice carries weight among the banns as well. We'll need his help if Loghain is ever to see justice." There was no doubt which plan Alistair approved of.

"So it’s Redcliffe," said Alim.

"You are ready to be Grey Wardens then?" asked Flemeth. "Good. Before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you. Morrigan?"

Morrigan, who had been content to stay out of the whole affair until now, arched a brow in response.

"The Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. You will be joining them."

"What?" The question was shrill enough to carry. Morrigan gawked at her mother in disbelief.

"You heard me," said Flemeth, obviously unimpressed by her daughter's display. "You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance. As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

The shock on Morrigan's face lingered. Jael drew a breath, bracing himself.

"Your offer is… most generous, Flemeth." There was an edge to the words he couldn’t suppress, even though he stood in the presence of a legend. He had no stomach for taking people’s freedoms away from them, especially after what he’d been through. "But if Morrigan doesn't want to join us..."

"Her magic will be useful,” Flemeth said, “and she knows well the Wilds and how to get past the horde." The iron in her voice was that of a blade only just sheathed. A warning for certain.

"She has a point," Alistair admitted, though he was clearly no more eager to have Morrigan along than Morrigan herself was to join them. "What I told you about being able to sense darkspawn? It works both ways. The intelligent ones will be especially aware of Grey Wardens in the area."

Jael fell silent, staring at Alistair with utter disbelief. They were learning this now and not before the Wardens had sent them twice into battle against darkspawn?

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan demanded, her outrage rising, then falling as quickly as it had crested as she beheld Flemeth’s stony expression. "Mother, this is not as I wanted. I'm not even sure that I'm ready..."

"You must be ready, girl." There was no give to Flemeth, no hint of warmth or sorrow in that inscrutable gaze. A high wind kicked up, chasing away the mist of marshland and driving distant clouds, perhaps remnants of previous storms, southward to meet them. "These few must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

"I… understand." But even so, there was a reluctance in Morrigan's words, an unyielding core not so different from that of her mother.

"And you, Wardens?" asked Flemeth. "Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed."

"She'll come to no harm with us," Jael said. There was only blunt statement in the fact, no appeasement, but it seemed enough for Flemeth. 

The witch had little enough in the way of provisions to give them, but there were a few packs and waterskins on offer as the Wardens donned their armor and weapons. The gear was not of wilder make. Indeed, some of it was quite fine, despite obvious wear. But, like the bowls at the hearth, they were all mismatched in age and style. Jael took note of small, faded stains on several packs that could only have been blood.

Better not to ask questions, Jael decided. They didn’t have the time to waste.


	9. Bear Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alim and Jael have left Flemeth behind to start out on their quest to deliver the Grey Warden treaties and build an army capable of defeating the Archdemon. There’s only one problem - they have no food. Thankfully, Jael has a plan...

The Wardens took their leave of Flemeth and set out on their way, Morrigan leading more often than not. The clouds caught up to them soon enough, turning the bright morning grey and deepening the chill to a true cold. Alistair seemed to fare well enough, Morrigan took no notice at all, and Jael had certainly been out in worse, but Alim found that his short woolen capelet did little to keep out the gusts that cut through his summer robes. The tower could get cold, but the cold was always still and well-behaved, nothing like the Wilds.

Jael fell back bit by bit as they walked, until he was traveling beside Alim. He shrugged off his cloak and, before Alim could object, draped the body-warm fur over his shoulders. "Just until the walk warms you up?" He offered an uncertain smile. 

The hesitancy in Jael’s usually confident expression disarmed Alim and he put aside the impulse to return the cloak. It was heavy, but the warmth was welcome, and even if Jael had put it over his shoulders as if he was a child heading out to play… he meant well. 

"Is this a Dalish thing?" Alim asked. "Tossing clothes on healers without any warning?"

The questions startled a faint laugh out of Jael, though the wind snatched it away almost before it reached Alim's ears. "It's not a custom of any I know. But I walk around looking through the Dread Wolf's eyes, so I suppose I'm allowed to be a bit strange."

"The Dread Wolf?"

"My vallaslin." Jael drew his fingers across the sienna mask tattooed over his eyes. "The god I dedicated myself to was Fen'Harel and he is, put bluntly, a bastard."

"That seems an entirely inappropriate choice for you then," said Alim, letting a mischievous smile slip across his mouth.

Jael smirked. "You would be surprised." 

"Maybe. But what makes your god a bastard?"

“Fen'Harel is the one who set in motion the downfall of Arlathan. He tricked both our gods and our enemies into surrendering themselves to his power, and sealed them away, far beyond reaching. Without their gods to help them in battle, the elves of old were conquered by invading humans and their homelands razed to nothing."

"And you dedicated yourself to him?" Jael’s choice in gods seemed a startling contradiction to what little Alim know of him.

"If I met him on the road, I would probably try to cut his throat," Jael admitted. "But he's the trickster of legend, the one who keeps his promises in the darkest manner, and teaches us to be ever more clever than our enemies… not to mention careful of who we turn to for aid. Plus he's the only god left standing, the only one that might hear us, though we must be desperate indeed to call upon him." Jael chuckled again. "Most offerings to Fen'Harel are actually made in the hopes that he'll keep his distance."

"It sounds like Dread Wolf is an apt title then, " said Alim. He studied the pattern of Jael’s tattoo and soon realized it wasn’t the abstract pattern he'd lazily assumed. It was quite clearly the skull of a wolf: the eyes, the teeth, the lines of a snarl. And with that realization came another that made Alim laugh out loud.

"Do you remember at Ostagar when you told me to run and take my chances with the wolves? I think that's exactly what I've done."

Jael’s smile froze for a moment and seemed ready to wink out like a dismissed wisp, but he held on to it.

"I swear on my sword," he said, lifting his hand to the pommel of his weapon, "I don't bite unless requested."

Alim almost laughed, almost said something about the unexpected appeal of that idea, but he had only the beginnings of a thin understanding of Dalish sensibilities and no clue whether his teasing would offend Jael. Instead, he let his gaze fall to Jael's sword to spend a moment in distracting appreciation of the strong hand resting on it. It was then he noticed the absence of Jael's beads. 

"Your bracelet...?"

This time, Jael’s smile died.

"Probably not far from wherever your book ended up," Jael said with a sigh. "It was a necklace. I thought I would lose it if I took it into a fight, so..." He shrugged, though the motion was stiff. "But maybe I would have anyway."

Alim had spent enough time ignoring greater losses that the mention of his book skipped lightly over his attention. "It meant something to you then?" he asked.

Jael was quiet for a moment. He reached to his side, where the hem of the wolf cloak would normally have rested, then let his hand drop.

"It's complicated," he said at last. "My _vhenan'mae_ gave it to me before I left." The word was unfamiliar to Alim, and Jael seemed to realize the mistake when he hesitated to respond. "My… I guess you would say a second mother? A by-mother, maybe?" He grimaced in frustration at the inadequate translation, then seemed to decide words were less important than substance. "Her name is Ashalle, and she was the one who raised me when the woman who birthed me cast me away. In all the ways that matter, I am her son. But the necklace belonged to my birth mother and Ashalle kept it all these years. For me, she said. She wanted me to take it with me, to… meditate on it, I suppose. I'm still not sure. But I promised her I would see her again and give it back to her at the end of this journey. And I was too careless."

"No, you weren't, " snapped Alim, a swift rush of old anger making his words too harsh. He took a breath to push it back and soften his voice. “You were as careful with it as as could be expected. If she wanted it safe then shouldn't she have held on to it herself?"

"Only if she valued the necklace more than she did the thought of me having something of family to hold on to." Jael studied Alim intently for a moment, then settled again, seeming to take no offense at the momentary protectiveness. "I won't say I understand why she thought I would want it instead of something of hers. I never knew my birth mother, never loved her or even the idea of her. But, for some reason, it was important to Ashalle that I keep it with me."

The idea that Jael should have been be burdened with a trinket from a dead woman was absurd, especially now that all Jael had left was the regret of its loss. Another twinge of anger, although Alim was uncertain if it was meant for mothers or the conspicuous lightness on his back where his spellbook had once rested or… other things. Irrelevant dross in any case and it was was quickly pushed aside. 

If Jael was determined not to be bothered by his treatment, it wasn’t Alim’s place to remain indignant for him. "I'm probably not the right person to judge. I likely would have dropped it off the first bridge I crossed so I wouldn't have to worry about it."

Jael's eyebrows rose slightly, and Alim found himself once again under scrutiny from those intense, dark eyes.

"Did your mother abandon you as well?" Jael finally asked. His voice was quiet enough that the question wouldn’t carry, his tone gentle.

That he asked the question so delicately made Alim smile again, although with a great deal less warmth than earlier. "Oh, not exactly. She tossed me out when she found out I had magic. Half the mages in the Circle could tell you a similar story."

"I'm not traveling with half the mages from the Circle. Just one. Even if it is a common story, I’m sorry all the same. At least I wasn't old enough to remember it happening. I thought Ashalle was my mother until I was almost nine."

"Thank you," said Alim, unsure if he should say more or not. Jael's sympathy made it tempting, and nine was an important age for him as well, around the age he was put out. Or the age the Templars found him.

He wouldn't bother then. In the Circle, the stories of mages lives before the Circle always seemed to be wrapped up in personal grief and fraternity politics. They were traps to be avoided if possible. Considering Jael's reaction the last time the subject of Templars came up, it seemed the same was true outside Kinloch Hold. He slipped off the Jael's cloak and handed it back to him.

"I'm warm enough now," he said. And then, because the Jael's phrasing seemed to hint at it, "Were you meant to find out she wasn't your mother?"

Jael slung the cloak over his own shoulders again without argument. He draped the weighted forepaws around his neck before he answered the question.

"She was going to tell me when I was older, or so she always said." The wry twist to those last words said just how much Jael truly believed that. "But a child is going to want to know who his father is, especially when he's the only dark-skinned elf in his clan. So I spied and wheedled and pestered until _hahren_ Paivel lost patience and told me the whole story." Jael snorted. "And he wasn't in any mood to be kind about it, either. 

“The short of it is that my parents were from different clans: he was Keeper to Clan Sabrae, and she was one of Clan Mahariel’s best hunters. They fell in love. When her Keeper forbade the match, they decided to keep seeing each other in secret, even after she caught with child and both Clans were in an uproar about the scandal. Shems found them alone once. They murdered my father, but he held them off long enough for my mother to escape. She stayed with my Clan long enough to birth me, then wandered off to die. She left me behind. Tamlen's mother nursed me alongside her own son, but it was Ashalle who raised me."

Jael shrugged, resettling his pack. "When Ashalle realized that I knew, she explained that she didn't want the knowledge to keep me too bound to past sorrows. But I'd rather know."

"On that, I agree with you." said Alim. He didn't think much of Jael's mother or clan for conspiring to deceive a child, but there was little point in mentioning that to Jael. "Your father, do you have anything of his?"

"No, but that isn't unusual. We Dalish don't tend to hoard keepsakes for memory alone. And he was Clan Sabrae’s Keeper besides; most of what was his went back to Keeper Marethari."

Jael's expression had relaxed, but he kept scanning the landscape as they walked. He seemed alert to their surroundings, even as he gave Alim his attention. "But once I knew who my father was, I at least had the stories of him. As I said, he was the best healer Clan Sabrae ever had. I hoped I would inherit his gifts, and studied with Marethari as far as she would allow, but..." He shrugged again. "I suppose I took more after my mother."

"I hope so. You said she was a fine hunter, right?" Alim patted his stomach, "It's going to be a long hungry walk to Lothering if you don't take after her."

"I should think my loyalty holds truer than hers." Jael gave Alim an assessing look. "And I hope I won't be hunting alone. Your talents could be useful."

"Talents? I've never held a bow, or a dagger, or whatever it is you hunt with, in my life. "

“What's left of my bow is back in the Wilds," Jael pointed out. At least the idea of Alim hunting had set him smiling again. "We can set snares when we make camp, but that won't necessarily get us a meal. So that's us and Morrigan to forage tonight. And you are actually the closest thing we have to an archer."

"'’Close' is a poor substitute for 'is'." Alim felt like he should protest more, but the idea of trying his hand at hunting, of being useful in a way that went beyond waiting around for darkspawn to attack or for someone to get hurt, was inviting. "Do Dalish mages hunt?"

"Not often," Jael admitted. "We don't have many mages in my Clan, and their time is usually spent in other pursuits. But none of us are considered of age until we've proven that we can survive on our own, including hunting. And…” His smile widened. “...magic users can be very creative on that front. I saw our Clan's First take down a charging, pain-mad boar with a bolt of lightning once. The Keeper scolded her over the frivolous use of magic, but that didn't make the hunters any less impressed with her."

"Lightning would do it," laughed Alim. "That would be best probably, unless you wanted to kill and cook the animal all at once. But I could lay traps too, confuse something or put it to sleep."

"Speaking of cooking, can you create flame? I don't know that we'll want a campfire tonight, and charred meat is better than raw."

"Of course!" But Alim's excitement was tempered by a sudden thought. "Do we have anything to eat until then? Did we get anything from Flemeth?" 

"Some gear, but no food. I'm afraid it's an empty march until we catch sight of something that can't outrun us." Jael's ran his fingers back through his hair, his expression apologetic. "I'm trying to keep an eye out, but I’m not familiar with some of these marsh plants. When we stop at noon, maybe we can try a bit. Right now, even bear nuts and snakes sound like a feast."

"No, I'm sorry, but snakes do not sound like a feast," said Alim. But it had been a very long time since he'd had to face the prospect of being hungry for any length of time and if snakes were what Jael managed to catch, snakes were what he'd eat. 

"We might be lucky to get snake," Jael mused. "If worst comes to worst, we may have to plumb for silt-fish or grubs."

Morrigan glanced over her shoulder. "If you are truly desperate, there grows in these woods a type of tree fungus that is very nourishing. Provided, of course, you do not simply bring it back up again after a bite or two."

"If you two keep it up," muttered Alistair, unhappily pinned in the middle of the conversation, "I'm not going to be able to keep enough of an appetite to starve."

Jael snorted, but dropped the line of conversation, instead switching back to discussing the possibility of using magical wards in place of mundane snares with Alim. When noon came and the rest of the party sat to rest, Jael headed off into the trees to see what he could do about filling their bellies.

Luck, however, wasn’t on their side in that respect. Jael returned with only an apologetic shrug and barely enough nuts to cover the palm of his hand. Alim hadn't been sure what to expect, but he'd hoped for something approaching a meal. 

"Well, that hardly seems worth the effort," said Alistair, staring at his share. 

"Since it wasn't your effort, occupied as you were with sulking," snapped Morrigan, "perhaps you should be grateful for what you have."

Alistair shot the witch a dark look but stayed quiet as he ate. Morrigan wasn't wrong, thought Alim, though grief was a kinder word than sulking. 

"We should probably talk with Alistair later," he said quietly to Jael.

"I suppose." Jael sighed the words through his teeth. Despite all that they’d been through with Alistair, he obviously was not warming to their fellow Warden.

Jael was saved from having to respond further the sound of a heavy body crashing through the woods behind them. He had his sword out in a moment, tense as he moved to step in front of Alim...

A dark-muzzled mabari leapt into view and began gamboling around the startled Dalish as if she'd found long-lost family. The dog whined and wiggled its stumpy back-end before throwing itself at his feet with a heartfelt whimper. Jael blinked, then slowly crouched down to inspect the animal. He ran his fingers over its fur as if inspecting the scars overlapping each other on its ragged hide.

"This is the dog from Ostagar," Jael murmured. "The one I gathered herbs for."

"I hope you're not thinking of bringing it with us," Morrigan said, looking at the exhausted beast as if it were more loathsome than the darkspawn themselves. "The last thing we need is another mouth to feed."

"He must have been looking for you." Alistair ignored Morrigan's comment and reached down to scratch the dog's back. "He must remember you helping him at Ostagar. They choose who-"

"No!" said Alim, louder than he'd meant to. "A pet? When we can't be sure we can feed ourselves?"

"Mabari aren't pets," Alistair insisted. "A trained warhound is as valuable as another soldier, maybe more. He's got to have senses keener than ours. I mean, he made it through all that carnage and found us all the way out here, right?"

"She," Jael corrected absently, still paying more attention to the dog than the conversation. The animal stared back up at him, silent save for its heavy panting.

Finally, Jael looked up at the others.

"I don't think there's much point in worrying over another mouth to feed when we have no food to split as it is," he pointed out. "We're either going to have to take the time to hunt properly, or resign ourselves to a hungry march for the next two days. And a dog could be useful either way."

Morrigan arched an eyebrow. "Really?" she asked scornfully. "The only use I see for keeping the beast around is if we were to eat it."

The dog, which had been lying docile under Jael's hands, growled in response.

Alim couldn't help but take a step back. "If that thing is dangerous..."

"Not at all! Not to people who don't threaten to eat her anyway." Alistair gave Morrigan a thin smile. "Mabari are smart. Smarter than a lot of people."

A dog. There seemed to be little point in protesting further; as far as Jael and Alistair were concerned the animal was a prize. It certainly looked more impressive than any dog Alim had seen, not a great feat since those others had mostly been the mangy strays of Denerim, but he couldn't deny there was an intelligence in its gaze. 

"Fine. We have a dog. Does the dog have a name?"

Jael rose to his feet; the dog followed suit and gave herself a shake, sending flecks of moss flying from her brindle coat.

"I hardly know her," he said, dropping a hand to its muscular neck. "She'll let me know what she’s called eventually. I'm more concerned with what we're going to do with ourselves. Do we hunt or attempt a forced march?"

"We don't have any money," Alistair pointed out. "So there's no guarantee of a meal once we get to Lothering, especially as hard up as they are for food right now. If we want to eat, we'll have to handle it ourselves."

Alim's hand went to his belly. He was hungry, but it was just a shade compared to how hungry he could get, and in the past, had been. The prospect of of no food tied a knot in his stomach. It was bizarre how quickly old concerns could claw themselves back up to the surface. 

"Then we handle it as soon as possible," said Alim. "Now would be my preference."

Morrigan gave them a scornful glance. "Those are not the only options. We could go to this village and take what we need with none being the wiser."

Jael shook his head. "No good. Everyone keeps an eye on the food stores in times of shortage. Besides, if we hunt, we may have meat for trade ourselves. A tent would be useful. I like an open sky over my head, but not when it's raining."

They kept walking, taking Morrigan’s word that they were headed back toward the royal highway. As the day wore on, they found a semi-sheltered spot where the trees had crowded in against the ruins of a house of some kind. A “shemlen” game hut, Jael had guessed, pointing out the rusted remains of fearsome leg-hold traps hanging from the walls. While Alim set wards, Jael began outlining plans, mostly concerned with trying to get enough food hunted and cooked to at least see the them out of the darkspawn-infested Wilds and past Lothering. To Alistair and Morrigan's consternation, it was Alim that Jael insisted on taking hunting.

Once they were in the woods, Jael moved quickly and quietly. As he stepped over roots and ducked under branches, there never seemed to be a moment where he was actively looking for obstacles to avoid, rather it almost looked as if the forest gave way and moved around him. It made Alim's loud and clumsy efforts stand out in contrast. What had been an exciting idea in the morning, learning to hunt, now seemed foolish. With more at stake then he had realized then, what was the point in dragging him along when Jael would likely be a lot more effective on his own?

There was a sharp tug as Alim's robe caught on a branch. He grabbed his skirt and pulled, ripping a long gash in the fabric in the process.

"I think Morrigan would have been a better choice to come with you," said Alim, staring at the tear. "No robes. And she’d have some idea about what she's doing out here."

Jael glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes flashing a phantom, hollow blue in the half-light of the woods.

"In some ways, perhaps." He dropped to one knee before Alim, soundless save for the gentle creak of his leather. "Follow my hands.” Alim would have stepped back in surprise if Jael wasn’t already grabbing his skirts, pulling them up to… tie around his waist? Girding them. Dalish propriety was a funny and inconsistent thing. 

"Morrigan might be better at hunting," he went on, "and I may understand her more than I do the two of you, but that doesn't mean I trust she won’t put a bolt of magic in my back. Or my dog. The templar can probably handle her. Not to mention that you can feel darkspawn coming and she cannot." Jael ran a hand briskly up Alim's leg to the bunched robes to check his work, then nodded and stood. "Besides, I promised to show you how to feed yourself. If anything happens to me or Morrigan decides she doesn't need us after all, it will be good for you to know. I can show you some plants that take well to cooking and where to set a snare. You won't even need me around for that."

The task was done, but Jael didn't turn back toward the forest, only remained standing in front of Alim, regarding him frankly. "You're right, Alim. This isn't the ideal time, but we may not have a better one," he said quietly. "I'm as likely to die as anyone else here, while Morrigan is least likely to stay. Someone else needs to know how to do this."

"Fine," said Alim. The complaining hadn't made the knot of worry that sat in his stomach disappear, but it had loosened it a bit. Still, it wasn't fair to Jael. He was being an ass, and nothing made the clearer than Jael's calm and even tone. He tried a smile. "But if you decide to put your hand up my skirt again, could you ask first?" 

Speaking of the possibility of his own death had seemed to come easily to Jael. Alim's gentle reminder of propriety, on the other hand, caused his eyes to widen slightly. He even took a step back.

 _"Ir a-abelas,"_ he stuttered. "I didn't… I wasn't… thinking of it that way..." The last words trailed off awkwardly. "We should… ah… let me show you some plants."

Alim's weak smile turned into a grin as he watched Jael stumble over his words. This was a wonderful break from the eternally composed hunter Alim had become familiar with. "Plants I might know a bit about. We all do a bit on herbalism. But that's generally more medicinal, not about what might simply be edible."

"It's not so simple." Jael kept his eyes on the ground, though whether he was avoiding looking Alim's way or keeping an eye out for teaching props was up to a guess. "The Keeper used to say that the difference between an easy meal and a quick death is no less so with gathering than it is with hunting. The only difference is you can't blame the plant the way you can a bear or a deer. But there are some that stand out more easily than others..." Jael trailed off, most definitely scanning the ground this time. He closed his eyes briefly, seeming to go inside himself, then shook his head as if to clear it.

"There." He lead the way over to a clump of leaves half-hidden among the grass, grey-blue teardrops clinging to squat, pulpy-looking stems. He crushed one of the leaves, sniffed, then held it out for Alim to smell. "That coppery, hot smell is what you want from these. If it smells sweet, don't bother with it." He dug his fingers into the soft earth, eventually levering out a cluster of pale, tuberous roots that trailed tiny clumps of dirt from curling, hair-thin tendrils. "If you roast these in the coals of a campfire, they'll keep for a few days. It'll keep us from having to stop and hunt again on the road."

"And we'll find more of this?" Alim took the bundle of roots from Jael, turning it over in his hands to examine it. "I imagine this isn't something rare if you managed to find it this quickly."

Jael nodded in agreement. "Murkroot. It's common enough in late summer and fall. You'll find it all over where there's shade and mud. You don't want to eat it when it starts smelling sweet, though. That means it’s starting to feed on itself for the cold season and something about it changes. It'll mess up your insides somehow. First your piss goes dark, then stops entirely, and everything in the body just stops working. Not worth it for a quick bite."

"Noted. Then we shouldn't have too much trouble feeding ourselves, even if all we have are these? The way you and Morrigan were talking, I thought it was a lot more desperate."

"This isn't territory I'm familiar with. Once we're clear of the marshier lands, they may not be so easy to come across. But at least it should be enough to keep us walking. And Morrigan… well, she finds her entertainment in needling Alistair. Of course she’ll let him think we’re going to starve to death between here and the village." Jael's smile was brief. "We should still see what we can find in the way of meat. Having something to trade in Lothering isn't the worst idea. Besides, that patch of roots won't go far between the four of us."

The dog whined.

"Five," Jael amended, seemingly unshaken by the animal's perceptiveness. "But you wouldn't want these anyway."

"It can count?" Alim asked absently. If one patch of roots wasn't enough then he was determined to keep an eye out for more. Not that it was likely that he'd see anything that Jael wouldn't see as well.

"It seems so. But that's hardly the most unsettling thing I've seen in the last handspan of days." Jael scratched behind the dog's ears briefly, then settled himself back into the silent, graceful role of stalker. The first sign of game they came across was hardly subtle; they found the remnants of another patch of murkroot, all churned earth with nothing left of the plants except the fleshy tops.

Jael licked his lips nervously, but turned to Alim anyway. "How powerful are those magic bolts of yours? Do you think you could take down a bear?"

"A bear?" Alim shrugged. "Not in one shot. And… they're bigger than the wolves we fought, aren't they? Probably not with half a dozen shots." 

He watched Jael scan the trees around them, suddenly understanding his wariness.

"Oh. Well, shit. Jael, I… If you think it's close I can put down a trap or... um… do something more destructive."

Jael's expression was not entirely unfamiliar to the mage: the catch of his lower lip between his teeth, the slight shifting of weight. No, you didn't come up through several classes of magic users without knowing the half-nervous, half-resolute expression of someone contemplating actions potentially -- perhaps idiotically -- dangerous.

"How destructive?” Jael asked. “I'd like to keep the pelt intact if possible."

"No fire then," said Alim. His fingers traced a few small patterns, a test, and the ground underfoot trembled slightly. "But I think I can give it lots of broken bones. Probably won't kill it but should knock it down."

"Do you know anything that might confuse it for a few moments?"

Alim nodded. "I don't need to set a glyph for that either. Is there a plan?"

"Once we find it?" Jael nodded. "I'm thinking that you could stun it, the dog and I could dart in for some blood-letting, and then if you followed up with your bone-breaking spell, that might slow it enough to bleed out without any of us winding up as corpses. Do your spells make much noise?"

"The big one will. I'll be pulling rocks up out of the ground and throwing them at the bear. I imagine that will be noisy," he said. "And you'll want to make sure you and the dog are out of the way. Why?"

"I would like to kill the bear without attracting darkspawn," Jael murmured. "You heard what Alistair said… this sense we have of them goes both ways."

"Both ways, so we'll know if they get near." There was no question in Alim's mind as to whether it was worth the risk; the promise of meat trumped all else. "You wanted to show me how to hunt. This is your opportunity."

"I just don't want to give them something besides this damned taint to follow if we can help it." There was an edge to Jael's voice now, but he didn't push any harder. Instead, he let out a slow breath. "Stick close to me. Bears aren't afraid of much, so we'll probably be in close before things get chancey." A pause. "You never did say whether or not you can climb. Could you cast from up a tree?"

It had been years since he'd climbed anything, but the trees around them didn't look difficult. Certainly less challenging than Tower stonework or the crumbling brick faces of Denerim. "Yes and, as long as my hands are free, yes. You’d still want to make sure you're not between me and the bear."

Jael nodded. "All right. On my mark, stun it, then get up the nearest tree. It's going to be mad once we're done with it.” He glanced down at his sword. “I’d much rather be doing this with a spear. And a half-dozen hunters with bows.” He breathed out slowly. "If there's no tree, just do whatever you need to to keep out of it's reach, even if it means I get hurt." Jael's smile was definitely strained this time. "You can put me back together after, right?"

"Mostly, but please keep in mind that I'm no Flemeth." He had already decided that he'd intervene if things looked too dangerous for Jael, pelt be damned. He trusted fire and lightning more than his healing.

"And thank all the gods for that," Jael muttered under his breath..

The way forward was slow and careful, though soon enough, Jael tapped Alim’s arm and pointed at the dog. Her ears had pricked up in response to some sound he hadn’t noticed and it wasn’t much longer before Jael put his hand up again, signaling a stop. He glanced over his shoulder to offer alim an encouraging smile, but it disappeared almost immediately and he turned back to the forest ahead of them. A moment later, their prey ambled out of the trees.

The bear was huge, much larger than the blight wolves they'd fought at Ostagar. Its black fur was touched with silver and Alim could only hope that meant the beast was older, and that perhaps age had dulled its sense and slowed its reactions. It took an effort not to stop and gawk at the beast; it put any illustrations Alim had seen in library texts to shame.

They edged closer, one foot… two feet. The bear kept its gaze on them, but didn’t seem disturbed at just how close they’d gotten. Jael drew his sword, then nodded to Alim.

At Jael's signal he cast his spell and sent threads of of magic to work their way into the bear’s consciousness to sow confusion. It was simple and quick and as soon as it was done, he ran for a nearby tree. The lowest branch was shoulder level and it took Alim too long to pull himself up, but the rest of branches were bare and well spaced, easy enough to scramble up if the bear got close. Through the leaves he could see the bear, still stumbling about, and Jael, ready to attack.

Jael flicked his gaze briefly down to the dog, whose attention hadn't wavered from their prey for an instant. He whispered something to her and then, he was charging forward, his sword gripped in both hands and the hound running beside him. Alim had to climb further until, through the spindly branches, he caught sight of Jael almost on top of the bear, driving his sword through the beast’s neck. 

A moment later, a furious bellow seemed to shake the world down to its foundations. Jael leapt away; his sword was red and the enraged bear was swinging at him wildly. It was still uncoordinated, but its head was obviously clearing and its reach was greater than Jael’s. The dog was back at Jael’s side, fangs also bloodied, though Alim couldn't tell where she'd bitten.

Alim was tempted to cast the same spell again, but was worried that the bear, already angry, might simply turn unpredictable, lashing out at anything close. Better perhaps to give Jael and the dog an advantage in speed. It took only a small wave of his hands for frost to bloom on the bear's fur, ice crystal to form on its muzzle. Under the fur, cold was already seeping into the bear's joints, making any movement slow and likely painful. 

"It's going to be sluggish for a little bit," yelled Alim.

The bear swung at empty air in fury, before its gaze finally settled on Jael and the dog again. It dropped to all fours and charged, bellowing rage and pain again.

This time, Jael didn't even try to engage, baiting the bear to keep its attention, but staying out of reach. Why he wasn't attacking was lost on Alim until he saw the blood pumping from the bear’s neck, a red stain blooming on the frost. There was certainly too much of it for Jael’s blow to have been anything less than mortal. Seeing little need to watch Jael dance around the bear until it finally collapsed, Alim pulled a pattern to mind, directing it to the space between hunter and prey. A moment later, the patch of earth lit up with a paralysis glyph.

The bear's forepaws came down in the center of the glyph as it swung and missed again. Light climbed over the front half of the creature, forming a prison of magic. The back half, however, still kicked and twitched, tearing up the turf.

Jael must have remembered that particular spell. Without hesitation, he spun on his heel and drove his blade through the bear’s eye and into its brain. He jerked backward when the beast spasmed, wrenching the sword from his hand, but there was no more danger. Even Alim could tell it was all death throes.

Jael backed away, making his way to Alim's tree.

 _"Ma serannas,"_ he called up into the branches. "That was well-timed."

"Quieter than flying rocks," said Alim as he climbed down out of the tree. "That wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Of course, I was up a tree the entire time."

He dropped from the last branch and brushed bits of bark and lichen from his robes. An easy climb but a good deal messier than a bookcase.

Jael laughed quietly, his eyes bright with the thrill of the fight. "I'd have joined you if it wouldn't have meant a chance at losing our kill." He held out his hand to Alim. "Come see. I'll bet you've never seen a bear up close before. You should get a look before it's in parts."

"First time I've ever seen one," said Alim as he took Jael's rough hand, relaxing at the feel of it. 

The dog bounded beside them as they drew up alongside the felled beast, which was half as tall as Alim even lying on its side. The magic holding the beast in place hadn't faded, and Jael guided Alim's hand into the thick silvered fur of the flank, damp with ice-melt, just in time for the last convulsive sigh of breath to leave the enormous body. 

"He had a long life," Jael murmured. "See the silver in his fur? And how blunt the claws and teeth are? Not many bears live to be old and silvered. With any luck, he'll help us get to the end of our far distant days. It's good to remember that."

Alim pushed his had through the fur as Jael talked. It was coarse on top but thick and soft underneath and, close to the skin, still warm despite the frost spell.

"Was that right of us?" he asked. "The spells? Seems unfair somehow."

"A hunt is never fair." Jael’s words were soft, almost sad. "Spells, steel, greater numbers. We do whatever it takes to make sure we're the ones left standing and that our people sleep with full bellies. The best we can hope for is to make the end swift and painless. Sometimes we cannot even manage that, and have to live with knowing it's done for need, not cruelty."

"Your people sound more thoughtful than most." Alim reached back down to Jael's hand and gave it a quick squeeze before releasing it again. "Thank you. It would have been a miserable walk without anything to eat."

"It will likely be a miserable walk anyway. No use in making it worse than need be." Jael's smile flickered to life for just a moment at the weak joke, then faded again as he contemplated the bulk in front of them. It wasn’t hard to guess why. As useful as a mountain of meat and fur had sounded in theory, the reality of it was that there was no way for the three of them to get it back to their camp.

"I don't suppose you have any spells that would make this easier to move?" he asked, a wan sort of hope in his voice.

Alim shook his head. "No. The best I can do is keep us from getting too tired on the walk back. Would we have time for a couple of trips? Bring Alistair to help?"

"And Morrigan too. We'll need every strong back we have." Jael considered. "We could send the dog."

"You have a lot of faith in the intelligence of that dog." Alim eyed the mabari. She returned his gaze, almost looking as if she was challenging him to say more. "Alright then, send the beast. Are we sending a message of some sort of just assuming Alistair and the witch will both follow it back?"

"I don't think we have anything to write with. Or on." Jael turned his attention back to the bear carcass. After a moment, he drew his short blade and, quick as a wink, cut a thick patch of fur from the underside of the bear's pelt. He crouched and held it out to the dog before speaking to her, calm and serious.

"Take this to Morrigan. She'll come or she won't, but at least she'll know what we found."

The dog let out a soft "bruff" of acknowledgement, snatched up the fur, and charged back the way they'd come.

Alim stepped back from the bear and ran a hand down each of his legs, healing small scratches from the tree climbing. "You didn't get hurt, did you?" he asked as his hands went to the knot that held his skirts up. He stopped and scowled at Jael. "I can't hold my robes up and carry bear meat, can I? Shit, they're going to see me like this."

Jael leaned back against the nearest tree trunk. "Are all Circle mages so changeable? One moment you're worried for me, the next you look at me as if you'd like to cut my liver out. But you can unfurl your skirts if you like."

"You're standing and coherent, mostly." Alim flashed the hunter a smile as he let his robes drop. "I wasn't too concerned that you were hurt. My dignity though? There's no magic that can heal that."

"You might want to take them off anyway," Jael teased. "You don't want to get blood all over them, do you?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," Alim said, Then, remembering the flustered Jael from earlier in the afternoon. "But if you're determined to get me out of them..."

Jael averted his gaze quickly, staring resolutely at the bear instead. He jerked his dagger free and strode wordlessly to the carcass, starting the laborious task of gutting their kill.

That Alim should have exercised the restraint he showed that morning was obvious. Apparently the camaraderie and good humour that followed the hunt did not extend to tame teasing that would have barely merited a raised eyebrow in the Circle, and Alim had managed to offend Jael. Whether the insult was in the suggestion or in whom the suggestion came from, Alim didn’t know. 

"I'm sorry," he said as he squatted beside Jael. "Bad joke I suppose. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I'm aware that you're… attractive," Jael said slowly. He looked over at Alim. "But I'm not some savage. I don't mean to take advantage of you." 

“I… I didn’t think you would.” stammered Alim. Indeed, he couldn’t even imagine it of Jael. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have said that.”

"And I'll try to keep my hands off of your robes." Jael didn't quite manage a smile. "Can you keep watch while I try to get the guts out of this carcass? I hate to waste them, but we won't have time to put most of this to any kind of use."

Rebuked and dismissed, Alim left to find a place to sit and wait for the others. He settled some distance from Jael, sitting with his back against a tree, and tried not to think too hard on what Jael’s impression of him must be. Coddled with the cloak and the impromptu adjustment of his robes, then accused of expecting Jael to pounce on him at a moment’s notice? It couldn’t be good. What had Alim expected? Regardless of how easy the morning’s conversation had been, they were still mostly strangers. 

But he was trying not to think too hard on it, wasn't he? 

The treaties then. Maybe tonight, when they got the bear back to camp, there would be time to start reading them. If they were heading to Redcliffe then it wouldn't do to go in front of the arl if they barely understood what they were carrying. Knowing exactly what was in them might help them decide which group to visit first. 

It was some time later, still caught up in thoughts of treaties, that Alim heard the noise of something crashing through the woods. 

"Jael," he called over. "I think they're here."

Jael rose from his task at once and headed to Alim's side. It was the dog who reached them first, wriggling all over in her delight at having found them again. She even went so far as to swipe her tongue over Alim's hand, but all the same, never made any sound louder than eager whining. Alistair and Morrigan came into view well before the dog had calmed. Despite the fact that he had to know their companions were nearby, Jael kept his hand near his sword until the two humans were completely in view.

Alistair gave a low whistle of admiration as he caught sight of the bear. "Now that's impressive. Not that I expected any less. Morrigan had her doubts, though."

Morrigan cut Alistair a look. "I said that the return of the animal without the hunters meant that either they had managed to bring down a bear, or that the bear had found itself a meal of elf-flesh. Either one seemed equally likely." She turned her golden eyes on Jael. "I assume you've summoned us to help you move the carcass?"

"It'll be quicker work with five than three," Jael affirmed. "The trees here aren't too close together. If we can manage a travois, we should have room to haul it back to the hut and do the butchering a little less out in the open."

"What do we need for a travois?" asked Alim. The other two seemed to have an idea of what Jael was talking about but he was lost.

"You use it for hauling a heavy load when there isn't an aravel around," Jael explained. "A couple of long poles and rope to tie a load down with is all it takes, but ideally there should be a canvas or a hide to rest the load on."

"Well, we've been making do with less than ideal since before Ostagar." Alistair eyed the mound of dead bear dubiously, but only for a heartbeat before he was headed back into the trees. "I'll see if I can find some saplings. Maybe vines or something would do for rope."

"We've all got belts haven't we? Or," Alim flipped aside the satchel that hung from his belt and lifted the front panel of fabric that hung over his skirt. It was a piece of heavy cloth edged with embroidery. "This is mostly decorative. We could tear it into strips...?"

"Mostly decorative?" snorted Morrigan, "Those are mage robes. There are protections woven into that, are there not?"

Alim shrugged, "Of course, but I doubt losing one piece is going to compromise them much."

"Let's try the belts first," Jael cut in. "It's a good idea, and I'd rather struggle with the carcass than risk one of us being vulnerable in a fight."

"Will one be enough for the travois?" Alim slipped his belt off, removed the satchel and panel, and handed it to Jael, "If we're using our belts and straps then one of us is going to be carrying everything they held, never mind the rest won't have weapons."

"I suppose we had better hope we get fair warning from sharper senses." Jael lay his hand on the dog's head, a gesture as natural as if the animal had been by his side for years. 

"Absolutely not!" Morrigan folded her arms over her chest and glared at all three of them (Alistair being spared only because he was too far off to one side). "I refuse to put my life in the care of a half-dead mongrel. Stand aside, Wardens; I shall deal with this situation myself."

She took a single step toward the carcass. A moment later, Morrigan had vanished and there was a giant spider crawling toward the kill, already trailing glistening wet strands of silver from its spinnerets in preparation to bind it. Alim heard a crash of armor that he could only assume was Alistair, but he was too transfixed to so much as turn his head.

Alim took a step towards the giant spider before he realized what he doing. He had never seen magic like this, had only read rare references in books that sounded more like legend than fact. But it was Morrigan and it was magic and he wasn't going to be caught staring at her like the Lothering crowd staring at his wisp spell. 

"Saplings?" he calmly asked Jael as he took back his belt. "She'll be done with the bear in no time."

Jael had been staring at the display, wide-eyed and shocked dumb, but he visibly wrenched himself back into the moment and stepped away to help Alistair. 

As the others worked, Alim circled Morrigan, watching her turn the bear as she bound it. There was nothing like this at the Circle, no spell or school of magic that might lead a mage to think they could change into a beast. From Jael's reaction, Alim doubted the Dalish mages knew anything of it either. He came round to face her, and although she gave no hint that she even recognized him, he could pretend the gaze of eight black eyes was on him.

He grinned. "When you're finished, we're going to talk."

"Oh, I think that's such a good idea," said Alistair from behind him. Alim turned to see he and Jael dragging the cut saplings behind them. "I would really appreciate knowing when one of my companions decides to turn into a giant predator."

He’d only just finished speaking, then Morrigan was standing beside the gut-pile that Jael had left, regarding Alistair with utter contempt.

"Such oblivious hypocrisy from a Templar." She sneered, then indicated the trailing twists of silk dangling from the wrapped carcass. "I've done my part. The rest I leave up to you. It seems brute strength is more called for here than finesse."

Jael frowned as he considered the issue. “Alistair and I are sturdiest. It seems this is up to us.” There was still a significant difference in heights between the two, but not enough that a four-pole haul was impossible. They lay their trimmed poles down side by side by side and, with Alim's help, heaved the sticky bundle of bear onto them and began lashing it down.

With the bear secured, Alim took a moment to rest. A full day of walking and work with little to eat was taking its toll. When he held his hand out in front of his face, it shook. A simple gesture to cast a spell, however, and the weakness was gone.

"Feeling delicate, Warden?" asked Morrigan.

"Not anymore." Alim swept a sleeve across his forehead. "And if anyone else needs a bit of help before we start, I can offer it."

"I think I'll save the offer for after we've got this thing butchered." When Jael laughed, there was no energy to it. "But I want last watch tonight."

He directed Alistair to the front of the travois, joined him in heaving the poles onto his shoulders. 

Alistair grunted in response. "If you’re still offering when we get back to camp, Alim, I think I'll take you up on it. Maker's breath, this is heavy."

"Now I feel delicate," Alim mumbled to himself. 

"Men with swords," whispered Morrigan from behind him. "Never underestimate their need to impress each other."

"Not like mages at all, right? Surprising everyone by turning into a giant spider wasn't meant to impress us?"

"If I meant to impress you, little man," snorted the witch, "I daresay I could do better than that. Now excuse me. I'll walk ahead. That dog may be more intelligent than the Templar, but I think it better to have someone ahead who can actually articulate impending dangers."

"And when we get back, I'd like to ask you some questions about that magic" said Alim, watching her pick a path around the other wardens.

Morrigan laughed. "Share my secrets with a Circle mage?"

"I'm hardly that anymore."

"Hardly a mage? That I can agree with," she called back as she took the lead.

If her jabs were meant to hurt, Morrigan failed miserably, and Alim found himself smiling. He doubted he'd have to watch his words around her like he had to with Jael. And there was the prospect of learning new magic. If only he had a book to make notes in.


	10. Chapter 10

Neither travois nor magic nor brute strength did much to ease the task of hauling hundreds of pounds of dead bear over marshy ground. The trailing poles would sink down into the marshy earth or grt hung up on every root in the way. More than once, Alim was obliged to throw his own strength in alongside Jael and Alistair’s to help get over a particularly rough patch of ground. Freezing the earth ahead of them helped keep the heavy load from sinking into the soft earth, though it made the trip little swifter with his fellow Wardens having to watch their step over the ice.

By the time they arrived back at camp, Jael and Alistair were breathing hard, dripping sweat, and all too happy to let their burden drop. Despite it all, Jael was grinning as he looked over at Alistair. "Well, the easy part's over. Help me get the hide off this thing."

"I may be of more use than he in these matters," Morrigan pointed out, barely heard over Alistair's groan of protest. At Jael's doubtful look, she only shrugged. "Trust that I know better than most how a bear's skin fits to its body. But if you would rather direct your fellow Wardens through it step-by-step..."

"Whatever gets us fed quickest." Jael drew his short blade and began sawing carefully through the spider-silk. Despite the fact that he seemed near exhausted, Alistair went to tend the fire and began awkwardly trimming down one of the poles for use as a spit. Well, he wasn’t a loafer, Jael was forced to admit that much. Jael left Alim to rest, but only until he got their prize free of the webbing, then he waved him over once more to continue his education.

“What can I do?” asked Alim.

“Pay attention while we take the carcass apart,” Jael instructed. “Then get your hands dirty.”

Alim blanched slightly, but still knelt for the lesson. “It’s the next step, I suppose.”

"Unless you wish to chew through hide and take your future meals raw off the bone." Challenge glinted in Morrigan's eyes as she caught and held Alim's gaze with her own. "That would befit a tamed Chantry hound, would it not?"

"That's enough, Morrigan." The angry edge in Jael's voice was only in part because of the insult to Alim. In truth, the fact that she had all but repeated his first thoughts of Alim rattled him. "Be useful or don't, but we haven't energy to waste snapping at each other."

"It's fine,” said Alim. "Besides, in a meal befitting a tamed Chantry hound, the meat would have been cooked, seasoned and served with wine. No chewing through hide required."

A smile tugged at Morrigan's lips. "If you require whine, I'm sure Alistair can oblige you."

"Really?" sighed Alistair as he hauled himself to his feet. Morrigan, for once, gave him the mercy of silence as she got on with the skinning.

"I would prefer to work without the commentary," Alim admitted to Jael, keeping his voice low.

"Hrm." Jael watched the witch through narrowed eyes. No doubt she was testing both of them, but to what purpose? He let the thought go; there was no time to dwell on anything not related to getting their bellies filled. Jael settled down to the task of showing Alim the best way he knew to strip a hide from a large beast. He felt more than a little satisfaction that his appraisal of Alim as a quick study continued to hold up. True, he was a bit clumsy with a knife, but he knew how to listen, and he made himself useful.

Even with the three of them and Alistair called upon to help, it was more grunting, sweating effort to pull the hide free. Once the carcass was naked, the silvery shape left lying before them looked more a bear’s ghost than anything else.

"There's a lot less blood than I would have thought," said Alim. "Thank the Maker for that."

"And it makes cleaning us up an easier task." Jael was tacky with sweat and blood, but he'd put aside his armor and shirt early on, leaving him with only skin and trousers to worry about. "We’ve almost made it to the reward. We'll strip off that silverskin, get some steaks and murkroot on the coals, and then we'll decide what to do with tomorrow."

Alim nodded and they returned to the work, removing sinew, slicing through fat and finally carving out a chunk of meat from the haunch. Morrigan, who had returned from preparing the coals to hover behind them, reached over and grabbed the meat from Jael.

"I trust the lesson can continue tomorrow? I'm hungry and would rather not wait while you lecture him, " she nodded at Alim, "on the finer points of cookery."

"I have no objections at all," said Alim. "It would give us a chance to get cleaned up."

For an instant, Jael did indeed want to object to the disruption in his lessons, but the moment passed quickly. Morrigan had bound part of her worth as a companion in her ability to cook, so they might as well see if she had played them false. And, frankly, his own hunger was making it difficult to concentrate on his self-appointed role as teacher.

There was a standing pool of water not far from the remains of the hut, recently collected from the rains and not yet stagnant. They retreated to wash in relative privacy, with Jael standing watch while Alim stripped. The blood from the butchering washed off with relative ease, but Alim had no idea how to strip the persistent grease from his skin. Jael showed him how to rip up grass from the edge of the pool and use the coarse fibers to scrub the bear fat from his fingers, but it was an awkward lesson. After the misunderstanding about robes, being so close to each other was a matter of trying hard not to step on invisible boundaries, especially when one of them stood naked. 

"Your turn," said Alim once he’d cleaned himself to satisfaction. "Should the bear be frozen? I can do that while you're washing off."

Jael nodded. Preserving the whole carcass wasn’t their largest concern, since there was no time for them to make use of all of it, but freezing it would mean the scent wouldn't carry so far. The fewer predators they had to deal with, the better. 

"Ma serannas," he said as Alim walked away. He stripped, setting his boots and trousers aside. He tore up a double handful of grass, then scrubbed his hands roughly to get rid of the worst of the clinging grease and bits of flesh adhering to his skin before wading into the pool. The dog flopped down on the bank, acting as his guard in turn. She kept up her unusual silence, only lifting her head to whine when Jael paused in his bath to submerge completely in the shallow water. The sound was building to an uneasy "wuff" as he finally surfaced.

"I’m not hurt," he murmured, pushing his dripping hair out of his eyes. He waded for the bank and flopped down beside the dog with no more grace than she had shown herself. "I'm still not sure this is the right thing to do. Any of it," he admitted quietly. There was thin sunlight fighting through the clouds, and Jael let it do what good it might in drying him. He needed time away from these shem, to at least think. "There's a part of me that still thinks I should be trying to get my Clan to safety. Keeper Marethari will do that, I know she will. I don't need to be there. But I'm not sure I need to be here either."

The dog whined and swiped her tongue over his hand. Jael draped an arm over her broad shoulders and scratched tentatively under her jaw. He didn’t understand Alim’s doubts about her intelligence. Looking into her eyes reminded him disconcertingly of time spent around the halla pens, of looking into the face of a beast and finding a kindred intelligence. And there was a loneliness -- a grief, even -- that he recognized in this poor, scarred beast.

"Right,” he said softly. “So if not here, then where should I be? There's nowhere I can do more good right now. I have to believe that." He patted the dog again, gave his trousers what he could of a wash before slinging them over his shoulder, and headed back to the others.

Alim had just finished applying a thin, uniform layer of ice over the remains of the bear when Jael returned. Alim looked up at Jael, down, and then away in quick succession. It was a strange show of propriety considering he'd seen as much of Jael only a day previous in Flemeth's hut. But a moment later his gaze returned, steadier this time, and there was a small smile on his lips. 

Jael nodded toward Alim’s handiwork. “All done here?”

“Completely,” said Alim, as he shifted his gaze away from Jael and towards the hut. “I assume we can eat now?”

Back in the hut, they found Morrigan tending dinner. She had spaced green wood over the coals and rested their dinner upon that that to keep it from going right into the fire. Several skewers of meat, cut into tongue-shaped pieces and hanging narrow-end down into the smoke, dangled over the flames on a crude spit of forked branches. Alistair way lying beside the fire, arms over his face.

"He's not asleep, if you're wondering," said Morrigan. "He's simply wallowing in self-pity."

There was a grunt from Alistair, but no answer otherwise. Alim sat down beside him. "Well, I'm tired and hungry and have bathed exactly once in almost two weeks. Wallowing seems like the thing to do."

"I'm not wallowing," Alistair said quietly. "I'm remembering."

"A waste of time and energy," Morrigan said, contempt woven about her tone like a yoke of nettles.

"You don't even know what I'm thinking about," Alistair protested. "Anyway, I don't suppose you've ever had anything haunt you, but some of us are just a bit more human, thanks."

"You are not subtle, Templar." She turned the steaks on the green as she spoke. "You torment yourself with the battle you were not allowed to die in. Sheer foolishness. You live. You hunger for vengeance. Leave the rest where it lies."

"They were my family." Alistair's voice had gained an edge, but little more energy. His exhaustion seemed complete. "And the only one I've ever really had. But that's something else you wouldn't know anything about, so why don't you just… be quiet?"

"Leave it be, Morrigan," said Alim. "You can go after us tomorrow when we're fed and rested and not such easy targets."

"You think I'm simply teasing him? That it's a favour to leave him to-"

"I think that whatever you're trying to accomplish, it's not going to work when we haven't got the energy to listen." Alim sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Is the food close to being ready?"

"Close, yes. Although I'm not sure how it will compare to Circle fare."

"So long as it's done trying to bite back, we'll take it." Jael paced over to the far side of the hut, boots in one hand, damp breeches over his shoulder. Droplets of water kept slithering from his damp hair and down his spine, but at least it was warmer with walls and most of a roof around him. He tossed the trousers over a tree limb that had forced its way through the ruined walls, then wrapped himself in his cloak for warmth. The dog padded along side, watching Morrigan warily.

"No news, I hope."

"None," answered Alim. "But if there were, I'd suggest it wait until after we ate."

"Or until morning," suggested Alistair as he sat up. He didn't look at Morrigan as she passed the meat around.

"You did want to to talk about tomorrow, though?" Alim looked to Jael as he took his share from the witch.

Jael grunted an affirmative. He lifted a hunk of greasy meat in both hands and tore off a mouthful; the hunger ripping at his belly didn't allow for better manners. He did, however, nod his thanks to Morrigan as he swallowed. The meat was tough and gamey, but that was all they could expect given the circumstances. That it was cooked and plentiful was far more important.

"I was thinking that we might want to linger another day to smoke more of our kill, especially if we're going to be hunting our own food for the next few days and maybe as far as Redcliffe. What time we lose to preparation, we could make up by not having to stop and forage."

Morrigan's golden eyes narrowed. "Darkspawn are still roaming these lands. Staying in one place makes us that much easier to find, and this ruin is hardly defensible."

"Hunting along the way, if it's splitting us up and slowing us down, makes us vulnerable to Darkspawn as well, doesn't it? I think I'd rather take the day and have the food. Besides," continued Alim, "I'd like to read the treaties before we get to Redcliffe. A day here would certainly give me a chance to do that."

Alistair was silent for a few moments, gaze shifting between Alim, Jael, and Morrigan. It wasn’t difficult to read his conflict: he shared Morrigan's opinion, or at least wanted to be on the road to Redcliffe as soon as possible. But he didn’t want to buck the authority of fellow Wardens now any more than he had at Ostagar, especially not to ally with a witch who despised him. 

"All right," Alistair said reluctantly, the words muffled by a mouthful of bear. "I guess one more day won't change much."

"If it ends up saving us some time in the long run then we might not even be giving up that one day. And it's not just the treaties I'd like to know about." Alim pointed a greasy finger at Alistair. "You said you know the Arl? It would be good to know about him and those around him before we get to Redcliffe. Might as well go in with all the knowledge we can."

“And someone needs to supply us,” Jael pointed out. “I don’t see any Grey Wardens around to take care of that.”

"Well, I mean..." Alistair coughed and struggled to get his mouthful down. "I haven't seen the man in more than ten years. As much as I'd like to take you on a guided tour of Redcliffe, a lot might have changed. So it's best we go in with open minds, right?"

It was a blatant evasion; even Alistair could sense it wasn't getting him anywhere. After a few moments of fruitless silence, he sighed, dropping his gaze down to his gnawed dinner.

"Look, it's been a long day and we're all exhausted. If we're going to take a day anyway, give me some time to get my thoughts together. I'll give you a proper report in the morning."

"Of course." Alim looked over to Jael. "Anything else?"

"Only that we should get in and out of Lothering as soon as we're able." The dog whined. Sated for the moment, Jael let her have the last of his portion. There was plenty more waiting outside, not to mention the murkroot on the coals. "I doubt it's become any less desperate since last we were there. The water was on its way to being fouled when we left, and they can't have much in the way of food."

"I would almost suggest that we avoid the village altogether but I assume you still wish to trade?" Morrigan's tone was the most at ease and conversational they had heard from her so far. Perhaps a meal and a fire brought out a more pleasant side. "There might be valuable news in any case."

Jael nodded. "And I wouldn't object to a tent to at least share between us on watch. I don't think we can expect clear skies all the way to Redcliffe."

"If we're done discussing the important bits then I think I'm going to retire for the night,” said Alistair. “And if we're not done, I'm still going to sleep. You can get me up to date in the morning." Alistair looked around but ended up settling back down beside the fire with his back to the rest of them. "Blankets," he mumbled. "We’re getting a tent and blankets."

Once Alistair had settled to sleep, Jael rose to his feet and headed out into the gloomy twilight. He returned a few minutes later with the icy heart of the bear scraped from the beast's frozen body cavity. He set them both near the coals to thaw, then leaned back into his cloak. Morrigan looked him up and down, all cool amusement.

"I know the allegiance of that scarring you bear so proudly," she said. "Do you think a wolf-branded stranger walking into a Dalish camp will help our cause or hinder?"

Jael cocked his head and gave the woman the most unpleasant smile he could muster, sharp-edged with a thin, gleaming sliver of teeth. "If you think anything I wear could ever make me half as unwelcome among my people as your presence would, you know far less than you think you do. So tread carefully."

To his surprise, Morrigan only laughed softly. "Perhaps. Perhaps."

Alim turned away quickly, but Jael still caught the curve of his smile. "I was going to volunteer for first watch,” Alim said, “but since neither of you seem to eager to go to sleep, maybe I'll take my chance now. Wake me when you need me?"

Jael rolled one shoulder in a shrug. "As you like. I'll take first watch." He lifted the hem of his cloak. "Would you like use of this for the night?"

"I wouldn't mind," Alim said. "On the condition you take it back when you need it."

"I doubt I'll need it before we're out in the open again, but those are reasonable enough terms." Jael stripped off the heavy pelt and held it out to Alim. This close to the fire, he doubted he’d catch chill.

"We have an agreement," Alim said. He threw the cloak around his shoulders and found a spot near Alistair to lie down. 

Jael stretched and reached for his trousers, by now only mildly damp and much cleaner than they had been. He dressed and settled before the fire again, regarding Morrigan contemplatively. "Don't you mean to sleep?"

A smile flicked to life on her face like a tongue of flame. "I have my methods. You are weary. Why do you not take your rest? Or do you expect to wake in my terrible webs?" 

"You're here against your will," Jael reminded her, biting back a sharper answer. That Morrigan had taken note of how much her spider-self unnerved him was not welcome knowledge. Every scratch of coarse, jointed legs had threatened to jolt him back to that ancient, decay-reeking cavern where Tamlen had died. He did not like this human woman knowing she could put him off his guard. "If I had no greater purpose binding me to this quest, I might well take my leave in the night. And I have no clue what binds you here, save Flemeth's desire. So I will take my watch, and your company with it, if that’s what must be tonight."

"Do not measure me by what you would do, little man." Morrigan’s eyes flashed as they caught the firelight. "My mother's desire failed to bind me the moment we left her house. Be assured that I have my own reasons for traveling with you, and that if I choose to leave, I will not skulk away while the rest of you sleep. That is my offer. Accept it or not, it makes no difference to me."

"I can't pluck your motives from the air, so my measure of you is your own words," Jael returned, unmoved by her ire. "But if you mean to stay, all the better." He turned the heart, watching as it began to grey around the edges. "Have you been outside of the Wilds before now?"

"We are not outside of the Wilds yet," she reminded him, an edge still to her voice. "But as to your meaning, yes, from time to time. I have been to Lothering, watched its people, and pondered what… curious beings they are." She cocked her head, raven-like, some of her sharpness subsiding as she recounted her experience. "On occasion, I purchased goods from the village merchants. There I spoke with men, a little. There they stared and knew me as an outsider. I have many times watched the travelers upon the King's Highway, though they did not see me unless I wished it. Beyond that, I have had little experience outside of the Wilds."

Jael contemplated, trying to decide what was not being said. "Is that what you want? To travel among those who would see only that you are different?"

"The idiocy of others is of little concern to me." Morrigan's lip curled. "What I wish is to see mountains. I wish to witness the ocean and step into its waters. I want to experience a city rather than see it in my mind. So yes, this is what I want. Actually leaving is..." She frowned. "...it is harder than I thought it would be. Perhaps mother is right -- it must simply be done quickly." Her gaze focused on Jael again. "But I should think it would be no different for a Dalish from the wild woods. Even in ignorance, your city-reared kin will see only a wolf among sheep."

That earned her a soft snort of laughter. "Or a werewolf," he said lightly, remembering the child at Lothering. "If they will have little to do with me, so much the better." He waved his hand to where Alim slept. "I think I will have enough to contend with given just the one." Out in the night, an owl hooted to itself, then flew over their shelter, shadow on shadow in the night. Jael's smile faded. He had to remember that they were not alone out here. "Do you truly think another day will give us away to the darkspawn?"

She pondered him a moment, then tipped a tiny, earthenware pot from her pack and held it toward the firelight. "Mother has given me something else for them to 'smell' as we journey through. Their own blood, among other things. Nonetheless, 'tis important we head out of the Wilds, not further in.” She tucked the pot away again. “The darkspawn come from underground, like an eruption. These broke through deep within the forest and that is where they will be most concentrated. So we must head for the open lands. I would not dally more than your one day, Dalish."

Jael nodded. "No wonder they overran Ostagar so quickly." And why had Duncan not warned them of that possibility either? Nevermind. He was dead and they were not. "But I take your warning. One day, then we're on the swift march."

"I am glad to hear it. I had hoped I wasn't traveling with fools." Morrigan glanced at the sleeping party members on the other side of the fire. "Or at least all fools." She prodded the coals with a stick, poking at the buried murkroot until it rolled out of the fire. "For now or for the morning?"

"For the road." Jael nodded to the skewers of meat Morrigan had set to smoking when she began roasting their dinner. "The roots will keep nearly as long as the smoked meat, maybe as far as Redcliffe if the weather stays cool. So we'll save them." He drew his knife and shaved off the cooked bits of heart, offering first to Morrigan, then splitting the morsels between himself and the dog when she waved him off.

The rest of the watch passed in the same way, with Jael whittling down the heart as it cooked, swapping travel advice and wilderness lore with the witch until it was time to wake Alim. The wind had picked up beyond their wreck of a shelter and the air grew heavy with the threat of rain. Jael wrinkled his nose at the prospect, but shook his head when Alim started to offer him his cloak again.

"Keep it for now. You may need it for the watch if those skies get any worse."

"Then I'll come get it if I need it." Alim smiled and held the cloak out. "We had an agreement, remember?" 

Jael bit down on his annoyance and shrugged. The boundary lines had only just been drawn; if Alim had no intention of stepping back from them now, perhaps that was just as well. It saved Jael from having to spend the energy trying to figure out how he might wind up offending the other elf this time. He accepted his cloak, shouldering the heavy fur mantle as if donning a missing part of himself, then curled up to sleep with the fire at his back and the dog at his front. It would take more chill than the night had to offer to get past the fire and the curled huddle of fur, living and otherwise.

He drifted off into restless dreams, the disconcerting chorus chasing him down into the dark. He woke with Alim tugging at his cloak again, and only just managed not to snatch up his dagger before he realized who it was. He let the weapon lie and gripped Alim’s wrist lightly. With the echo of nightmares still in his mind, he suddenly didn’t give a damn about maintaining boundaries.

"You don't have to take it. S'warmer here and I won't bite."

"Fine," muttered Alim. He let the cloak drop back over Jael’s shoulders and lay down beside him, taking the warm spot between Jael and the fire. He tugged the edge of the cloak over his own shoulders and closed his eyes.

Jael snorted, but at least Alim’s presence was enough that he dared close his eyes again.

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

Morning brought no darkspawn with it, but still came far too early. Jael uncurled from his warm nest and blinked at the interior of the hut. Alistair was beside the fire and making a show of fixing the morning meal, using his shield as a cooking pan. 

"Good morning. Morrigan is tearing apart that bear if you want to join her."  
Jael grunted an affirmative. He left Alim to sleep a bit longer and took the dog with him when he went to empty his bladder and perform a perfunctory wash. As Alistair had said, Morrigan was already at work on the half-thawed carcass. No less eager to move on than she had been the night before, he guessed. He shook the last of the water from his hair and went to help with cutting meat and setting up makeshift smoke tents of sticks and spider-webbing.

By the time Jael went back to the hut, Alim was sitting at the fire, studying one of the Grey Warden treaties. Jael noticed that his wolf cloak was still over Alim’s shoulders.

Alim was looking to Alistair as Jael stepped back inside. "Breakfast?" 

In response, Alistair held up a whittled stick that was making do as a spoon. It was hard to tell if the grainy grey mush on the end of it was the result of Alistair's hopeless cookery or the result of using the edge of his shield as a cooking vessel, but suddenly the previous day's conversation about snakes and wood fungus didn't seem the worst thing in the world. 

"Or there's more bear," Alistair put in.

"Thank you but… maybe after. Wouldn't want to get anything on the documents." Alim tapped the paper with a finger.

Alistair chuckled despite himself. "Better get them read before Jael finds out you're not eating. He'll get that especially gloomy-looking glare on his face."

"I'll eat when I'm ready," said Alim, refusing to look up from the treaty. "What he thinks about that isn't my concern."

“It is if I have to worry about you passing out on the march,” Jael put in, more amused by Alim’s moodiness than offended.

Alim did a quick double-take as he noticed Jael, then rolled his eyes. “I’m reading, not walking. And we’re not marching today anyway. But if it’ll keep you from hovering, I'll take some meat.”

"Right." Alistair tasted the breakfast mash, made a resigned face, and took another bite. "Anyway," he managed, forcing the words out around his own grimace, "we'll be on the road soon enough. Are you still thinking we should head to Lothering?"

Alim sighed, then rolled the scroll up and stuffed it back in the pouch. 

“Lothering." He shrugged. "It's on the way to everywhere else we need to go. Are you having second thoughts?"

"No. Sort of?" He swallowed then paused to gather his thoughts. "We need to stop there and see what supplies there are to be had, I just don't want to get distracted again. The arl… he and Loghain have rarely seen eye to eye. And if Loghain is making a grab for power with the king dead and his daughter as acting regent, Eamon could very well be a target."

"I don't think this is a distraction," Alim moved closer to the fire and grabbed a piece of bear meat leftover from the night before. "But you've got a point. You're concerned for Eamon?"

"Eamon's no fool," Alistair said. "As soon as he hears what Loghain's done, he'll take steps to oppose him and protect himself and Redcliffe. But the king's army was wiped out, and who knows what they're hearing from Loghain's men?" Alistair shook his head. "I still don't understand it! Cailan's father was the Teryn's best friend. All the stories and songs say so. How could he sink so low? And why would he risk all of Ferelden to so it?"

Jael sank down beside the fire. It wasn't just grief that had been occupying Alistair's thoughts then, it was worry as well. And his worry seemed to reflect a surprisingly deep understanding of shemlen politics. And when he spoke, there was an odd sense of familiarity with the people he was talking about, as if he were not outside of it all.

"How do you know this Arl Eamon?" Jael asked.

"Oh. Right. I did promise to let you both in on that, didn't I?" Alistair grimaced, but this time didn’t have his cooking to blame. "It's… one of those messy, complicated stories.” He sighed. “You might as well call Morrigan in. I'd like to just tell it the once, get all the laughing and obvious jokes out of the way at the same time."

It took little time for Jael to fetch Morrigan and set the dog to guard the meat (with a stripped leg bone for her to gnaw on, just in case temptation got the better of her).

Alistair only looked up when all three of his companions were seated by the fire, and even then he was reluctant to start, rubbing the back of his neck and opening his mouth only to close it again.

"You were going to tell us something?" Alim prompted.

"Yes, yes I was. I mean, I am." Alistair shook his head. "Let me just get this out then. My mother was a serving girl at the castle and she died when I was very young. Arl Eamon took me in, put a roof over my head."

Alim nodded. He knew where this was going.

"The arlessa..." A quick side-glance at Jael. "...Eamon's wife, she never cared very much for me. She used to have me sleep out in the kennels with the hounds, and as soon as I was old enough, she had the arl pack me off to the Templars. And I trained there until..." He tripped over the word and had to take a moment to compose himself. "...until Duncan came and recruited me right from under the Chantry Mother's nose. So there you have it, everything between me and the arl."

Jael frowned. "Not everything. Why would a shemlen noble take in a serving girl's child?"

Alistair bristled. "Is it really beyond your comprehension that a human could do something simply for the sake of kindness?"

Jael narrowed his eyes, but he held the Templar's gaze. "Assume it is. And also that I will always assume a shem who has lied once will lie again."

"I wasn't..." Alistair sighed. "It's not a _lie._ It's just… not important to what we're doing. My mother… she was… King Maric took a liking to her, or so I was told. And there's your answer. You've been traveling with the bastard royal of Ferelden."

"Oh Alistair," groaned Alim. "Bastard I expected, but the Arl’s or… this is _important_ , Alistair. Who knows? Did Duncan? Does Loghain?"

"Yes and probably, yes. Arl Eamon of course. But it doesn't mean anything!” Alistair protested. “It was always made clear that I wasn't in line for the throne, that I'm no more than a commoner. It's Arl Eamon that's likely to inherit that throne." The last sounded forced, as if Alistair was trying to convince himself of the truth of it.

"You weren't in line for the throne when there was more of your King Maric's bloodline to go around." Jael had no compunctions about dragging the harsh reality out into light and he had no patience for Alistair now trying to convince himself of his own half-truths. "But if the shemlen think power simply comes with blood, then you just became much more dangerous to this Loghain. And possibly to this Eamon, if he is also in line for kingship. Did Cailan have children? Does this arl?"

Alistair paled slightly and Jael could see every implied question hit home. Why did a noble take in a bastard? Mercy? To have a pawn to use later? To keep an eye on every potential competitor to the throne?

"You're wrong," he said finally, his voice firm. "Eamon would never stoop so low. If he thought I was a danger, he could have had me killed as an infant."

Jael only cocked an eyebrow.

"Anyway," Alistair sighed. "No. So far as I know, my brother has no heir. And Eamon's son is only eight. Even if Eamon had plans to put him on the throne, it would still be Eamon serving as regent until Connor was of age."

"So it's down to you or the arl for rule by bloodright, and Loghain by opportunity." Jael turned his sheathed dagger over in his hands, tracing the carvings along the hilt with the pad of his thumb as he considered the situation. "Maybe Redcliffe isn't the harbor we're hoping it will be, but it's still our best hope. But… perhaps we could go in without Alistair to start, at least try and discern the arl's disposition toward taking power before we deliver his competition onto his doorstep."

Alistair snorted his disgust. "If you're going to spend this entire trip seeing an enemy in every 'shem' you run across, we're going to spend our time eating a lot of bear and hiding out in the woods while the Archdemon waltzes right up to the gates of Denerim."

"Don't rush into the jaws of the Dread Wolf just because you're desperate for a friendly face," Jael flung back. "You're a threat to a man who just wiped out an army of his own people for a chance at power. You need to start looking more closely at where your enemies might be hiding."

"Arl Eamon has the reputation of being an honourable man,” said Alim. “I'd be inclined to trust Alistair's view of him. I'm not sure that Eamon has much of a claim though. He was Cailan’s uncle by marriage, not blood. But I'm not sure how much of this matters since Cailan has a widow."

"Loghain's daughter," spat Alistair.

"Queen Anora," corrected Alim. "And she's well liked as far as I know. It will take a Landsmeet to confirm her, but things might not be so desperate that we need to worry about what Eamon might do to Alistair."

"That's a lot of weight to pile onto a 'might', Alim," Jael pointed out, ignoring the fact that half of the terms they'd used held no meaning for him. The gist carried through, at least -- blood was a stronger claim than marriage, which meant, oddly enough, that they were currently sitting around a fire with the man who was possibly the next heir to Fereldan's throne. Which didn't change the fact that there was still a lot of bear to be smoked and a long march ahead of them.

"It's not a 'might'." said Alistair. "Eamon is a good man."

"No doubt, but Jael's caution isn't unwarranted. We're all a little over our heads and it might be best to..." Alim threw his hands up. "Eh, I don't know. It might be best to keep focused on Warden things until we have a bit more information. We can tackle how to handle Redcliffe when we're closer."

"There is still Lothering," Jael agreed. "And it wasn't the most hospitable place the last time we went through."

"You didn't _have_ to spend the night in a tree, you know." Alistair pointed out. "It's not like we got rousted out of our beds."

"I wound up sharing that tree with two elves who recall the night differently. If they're still alive." Alistair squirmed a bit at that reminder, and Jael opted not to press, though the temptation was there. They had to decide what they were doing now, not argue what had happened a week gone. "At any rate, we won't be staying there this time. Just long enough to trade."

"And we'll need goods to trade, so back to work?" asked Alim. "Unless there are any more revelations of course…?"

"I could tell you about my collection of frilly dresses back at the Warden quarters," Alistair quipped, "but I'm not certain we know each other that well yet."

Jael snorted and rose to his feet. "Morrigan's been scraping the hide. She's better at it that I am, especially considering what we have to work it. But another hand would be useful. Coming to join us, Alim?"

"Could you take His Highness?" asked Alim. "I was hoping to get the treaties read at some point today."

Alistair scowled at Alim. "Oh, I feel _so_ much better for having unburdened myself to my fellow Wardens," he grumbled. "What about breakfast?"

Jael glanced down at the mess in Alistair's shield. "If you're lucky, it doesn't hold a grudge. What is that?"

"What? I went and found some more of those roots. I think that's them, anyway."

"Sounds wonderful. You two enjoy that." Alim turned and scooped up the pouch. He paused for a moment before wrapping Jael's cloak more snuggly around his shoulders. He glanced at Jael as he stepped out of the hut. "It's chilly."

It was Jael’s turn to roll his eyes, but he followed the other two back out into the sunlight. It wasn’t until Morrigan brushed past him and headed back toward her work that Jael realized she’d said absolutely nothing during the reveal or after.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

There was little time for idle talk up through the afternoon as everyone tended to their own tasks, whether it was working the bear hide, tending the meat, or, in Alim’s case, poring over the treaties. Jael didn’t have a chance to catch up with Alim until the sharp edge of Morrigan’s scorn caught in his ear like a fish hook and drew him around to the back of the hut.

Alim sat on a bulge in the caving-out wall, the treaties on his lap. His braid was coming undone; and he held a stray wisp of hair our of his face as Morrigan loomed over him, staff in hand.

"- it is a question of who you, and they, mean by 'our' I suppose,” Morrigan finished sharply. She waved her own comments aside. "Nevermind. I'm hungry and I see that you've eaten the last of what was cooked without preparing anything more."

"Well, they don't teach us to cook our own food, unfortunately." Alim shrugged.

"Of course not. That would be useful." She gave him a scornful look. "Another thing for the Dalish to teach you, then."

Well, if they were going to invoke him in this conversation, best to announce himself.

"It would not be a bad lesson for today,” said Jael. He leaned against the wall. The dog sat beside him, but glanced over her shoulder as if to be certain Alistair hadn't gotten himself lost less than ten steps away from them. "It would be a job badly handled if I were to show Alim only half of what he needs to know to feed himself."

This time, when the hound glanced Alistair's way, it seemed to be a far more pointed look.

"We're only staying the one day, and Alim is a quick study," Jael murmured, reaching down to pat her head.

"Alim is also sitting right here," Alim snorted.

"In torn robes, no less," said Morrigan. "Mending will have to be another task for your tutor. And I wonder if you know how to use your staff?"

"Of course I do, I'm a mage. What mage doesn't?"

Morrigan shook her head. "And with that answer I'm almost certain you don't."

"She means, can you use it as a weapon in and of itself." Jael's stifled a grin at an unexpected memory. "The Keeper and her First used their to clip my ears or take my feet out from under me more often than I could count when I would push my boundaries." The thought was immediately followed by suspicion. Morrigan had alternately shown curiosity and contempt for Alim, and neither seemed a likely basis for teaching him to defend himself.

"I… we were never trained to use it that way,” Alim protested. “There's not much need in the tower."

"It seems to have escaped your notice, mage, that we are nowhere near your Circle at present." There was more amusement than scorn in Morrigan's voice now, as if she were just barely containing laughter at the repeated mistakes of a slow child. "What will you do when your magic is spent? Throw rocks? A properly wielded staff can shatter bone or fracture a skull."

Alim shrugged and reached up to finish undoing his unraveling braid. "Then I learn how to properly wield a staff. Hunt, cook, sew, fracture skulls… it’s a good thing I left the Circle to get a proper education." 

"Think of it as broadening your current knowledge." Jael's eyes followed Alim’s long, graceful fingers as they plaited the subtle waves of his dark locks back into their usual severe cord. "Or just sharpening your survival instincts."

Alim tied off the braid. "I'm not protesting. The more I know the better." 

"Well..." Jael nodded toward the drying tents. "We have the rest of the day and nowhere to go. Where would you like to start?"

"I don't know. I don't think I know enough to even know where to start," Alim said with a sigh. "The staff sounds the most interesting, but I'm not sure I want to face another morning where I'm at the mercy of Alistair's cooking."

"I think you have your priorities straight," said Jael. "It's cold bear and roots for the next few mornings, so we needn't worry about cooking. Darkspawn, the wilds, and bandits are a more immediate dangers."

"The staff it is, then." Morrigan fixed her sharp gaze on Jael. "How familiar are you with it as weapon?"

"I've trained with one, but I favor the blade and bow."

"Very well, it falls to me." Morrigan flowed to her feet. "Rise, Warden. We have little enough time."

"Too little to learn much, I imagine," said Alim. He recovered his staff from where it had stood against a wall of the hut, abandoned almost since they'd stopped the day before. "But I have to start somewhere."

"Hand over the treaties,” said Jael. “I'd like a chance to read them while you train." But that was easier said than done. Once Jael had settled to read, he found that the treaties themselves were a puzzle that left him glad his dark skin so easily hid a frustrated blush at how little use his literacy seemed to be after all. He recognized most of the words, but many of them were spelled differently from how he’d learned, and the use of them strange to his eyes. His frustration made him an easy target for distraction, and his attention was drawn again and again to Alim and Morrigan.

The lesson was not shaping up to be a gentle one. Morrigan regarded her new pupil briskly; a moment later, he was on his back on the ground, winded and staring up into her eyes. 

"Adjust your grip, Warden. You're attempting assault, not casting a spell."

Morrigan was not a generous teacher, Jael decided. She didn’t spare time to help Alim adjust his hold on his staff, expecting instead that he would watch her and change his grip to match hers. No sooner had he moved his hands then she swept his feet out from under him and sent him down again.

"Up. Give your stance a little thought this time. The ground is not a good place from which to be defending yourself."

He stood, tried to adopt Morrigan's stance and went down again. On it went with Morrigan making comments to draw his attention to one thing or another, never stopping to explain or demonstrate. She expected him to watch her, to learn by doing as she did. The first time she failed to knock him down, Alim had time to flash Jael a small smile before she caught his staff with her own and sent it flying from his hands.

"Don’t let yourself be distracted," Morrigan demanded when he picked it up again.

Much later, after too many bruises and, Jael thought, very little progress, Morrigan called a halt to the lesson. "Enough. We'll practice more tomorrow and hope that you will have no need to test your staff work in the meantime."

By the time Jael folded the treaties back into their pouch, he found himself gripping the pages harder than he'd meant to in his annoyance. He came up beside Alim and joined him in glaring at Morrigan's retreating back.

"Care for some more practical demonstration?" he asked. "Alistair and the dog are keeping an eye on our catch."

"Tomorrow maybe?" Alim tossed his staff down and sank to the ground beside it. "I think I might need to do a bit of healing before I try that again. She's not much different than some of the mages at the Circle, at least in how she teaches. Except that's it's a staff coming at me instead of a fireball."

Jael wasn’t mollified. "It wastes time to punish you without giving the tools to correct your fighting style. But it can wait a day."

"Good." Alim lay down and put a hand on the side Morrigan had rapped with her staff. His hand began glowing faintly as he invoked healing. "Maybe having a Circle mage as a target was too tempting. Hopefully she'll be a little more gentle next time, and if not… well, I'll learn quickly, I suppose."

Jael watched Alim tend his wounds with a keen interest. "Let me know when you're mended enough to stand being touched. I'm no healer, but I do know sore muscles and I think yours might be grateful for a rubdown before you start stiffening up."

Alim dismissed the healing and looked up at Jael. "It's just a few bruises, Jael, not much to mend." He a moment, considering. "Dalish mages fight, don't they? They hunt?"

"Yes. And if they come home as knocked about as you are, then they hope they have a hunt-brother or a _da'vhenan_ to rub them down." Jael grinned, then reached down and hefted Alim's staff, curious as to its balance. "Once they're out of training, the mages don't heal every little cut and weal. It's not safe for anyone in the long run. So even the mages tend to wind up as notched as the rest of the hunters after a while." And the idea of the same happening to Alim was utterly unappealing, even if he couldn't entirely put his finger on why.

"But they're not treated with any special care then, are they? Because they're mages?" Alim sighed. "I just… I feel very much like you think I'm rather delicate. Telling me to run from the Wardens or tossing a cloak over my shoulder. Maybe offering a rub-down isn't part of that, but… I'm not Dalish, but Circle mages aren't weak. "

"If I thought you were weak, I wouldn't bother with you," Jael replied, no less blunt. "You're sheltered and ignorant and unsuited for life under open sky, but that's not weakness. Those are things that can be changed -- that you _are_ changing." He nodded to the staff as an example, then went on. "And it's no benefit to me, you, or our mission if I let you stumble, starve, or freeze, is it?"

"I suppose not, " said Alim. He sat up slowly, groaning through his teeth. "But it's no benefit to you or me if you're leading me around, adjusting my wardrobe or whatever, without explanation. As for the rest, sheltered, ignorant and unsuited, all that I cede without argument." He grinned. "In fact, I think I said as much when we first met."

Jael cocked his head as he considered Alim's words. His actions had seemed self-evident at the time, between the drop and temperature and Alim tripping over his robes. "Perhaps," he finally said. "I am supposed to be leading, but I can speak more if you think it would help."

"I think that's a good part of leading," answered Alim. "Helps to avoid misunderstandings anyway. And now, if your offer still stands? Healing only goes so far."

"I haven't had a change of heart in the last few breaths," Jael assured him, a laugh trailing the words. "Come sit by the fire. I won't even ask you to take off your robes." It wouldn't be as effective to massage Alim through his clothing, but going into the marginally more sheltered area of the hut meant one fewer set of eyes watching their food supply.

Alim grunted as he slowly settled. "I think I've found where I'm going to spend what's left of the day. Unless you've got magic of your own."

"Not in any sense." Jael knelt behind Alim and went to work from the shoulders down, stroking the pads of his thumbs down Alim's spine to start. "I hoped I might inherit my father's gifts, but I was on the older side for that even by the time I knew who I was." The Dalish huffed a soft laugh as he settled his hands on Alim's shoulders and kneaded them firmly through the cloth of his robes.

"Doesn't matter. This feels better anyway." Alim let his head drop a little and pulled his braid over his shoulder, out of the way. "It sounds funny though, talking about it as a gift."

"Of course we call it a gift. It was the mages -- those who would eventually become the first Keepers -- that allowed the first of the Dalish to survive the fall of the Dales without bending knee to the shemlen." Jael worked his way up the back of Alim's neck, then down again, seeking out spots of tension. "Many of those who were able to escape were elven nobility, not hunters or foresters. Even a knight in armor is of little use as a hunter. It was the mages who provided warmth and hope, who melted caves out of solid mountain sides to shelter their people, brought down beasts with lightning, and kept life and breath in the elves during generations of hard lessons. It's not a thing to forget."

"I suppose not," said Alim. "But if the first Dalish were nobles and mages, who were those left behind?" 

Jael frowned behind Alim's back, both at the question and because he'd just noticed Alistair watching them. "Those who could not run or who stood to fight to the last were mostly captured and slaughtered to quell the spirit of those who remained. When Orlais took the Dales themselves, the elves who yet lived were stripped of their heritage as in the days of the Tevinter conquest and condemned to living caged among the shemlen." 

"No, I understand that. I know what happened to them. It’s just…” Alim let the question go with a sigh and a shrug. "Nevermind. Back to magic. For what it's worth, I don't disagree with you about it being a gift."

"Ask your questions." Jael went to one knee to get at Alim's lower back. "I won't throw you into the marsh if we start growling at each other."

Alim chuckled. "No, I'm too tired for growling. You ask me questions if you have any."

"Heh. I suspect anything I would want to ask would be things you don't want to talk about. Growly things that would make you tired." Jael frowned again, but this time over a knot in Alim's back. Alim should have been lying down for this, but the muddy ground wasn’t the best for such things.

"And now I'm curious about what you'd ask. I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't prepared to answer." Alim turned his head to look at Jael for a moment. "If it's something I don't want to talk about, I'll tell you."

Jael shrugged mentally. Very well. "How did the Templars find you?"

"Oh, I'm not sure. I thought I was clever about my magic, kept it hidden, but I was a child so maybe not as clever as I thought. Maybe my mother told them, or my sister."

The answer was met with a slight huff. "That tells me little enough of why you'd be grateful to them," Jael protested. "Is life in the Alienage so terrible for everyone, or were your circumstances alone so harsh?"

"A bit of both?" Alim’s voice stayed calm, but Jael could feel his back stiffen. "I don't know if Alienage life has to be absolutely terrible to find the idea of regular meals and an education appealing. But it had been a year since my mother tossed me out. I think? I had my sister and there were a few times I had a bit of work and a bed but still… when they took me to the Chantry, that was the first time I'd eaten in a couple of days. That's reason enough to be grateful.”

A few meals and a warm bed weren't worth trading away your freedom. Not even books were worth that. But Jael was in a very good position to feel Alim starting to tense again, and so kept that to himself. Instead, the answer got a dubious, "I suppose" as he went to work on the mage's arms. Then, after a moment, "Ma serannas, Alim."

"No," said Alim, gently pulling his arms away from Jael's grip. "You don't understand.” He stood, wincing, then motioned to Jael to follow. "My turn to drag you away for a secret elvhen talk.”

He led Jael away from the camp, making sure the hut stayed between the two of them and the humans.

"I have to apologize. People usually know enough… In the Circle at least, they know enough that I don't have to explain. There were other elves from the alienage, even humans from Denerim or… or they may have come from worse, so..." He paused and looked away, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. "I was eight or nine when my mother discovered I had magic and put me out." Alim crossed his arms and looked at Jael. "Where do you think I slept after that? How do you think I ate?"

Jael frowned and resisted the urge to mirror Alim's position. He'd had the mage annoyed with him often enough that he could read just how easily he'd close off pressed him too hard. But Elgar'nan rend it all, how was he supposed to learn anything about Alim if he found himself at arm's length each time he tried getting deeper than simple politeness?

"Were the rest of your clan too scared of your magic to take you in?" Jael knew that he'd almost certainly used the wrong word, but he had no idea what community the city elves organized themselves into and he had no doubt Alim would correct him in a moment.

"I didn't have a clan," Alim said. "I don't think most do, not in the way you're thinking. Family, cousins and such, maybe, but if I did, I don't remember them. Maybe we weren't from the alienage. Who knows." Alim shrugged. "I had my mother. So where do you think I slept?"

"Anywhere that offered shelter." The answer was almost an afterthought; Jael was still struggling to get his mind around the type of isolation Alim had offered up as a matter-of-fact reality. "Why didn't anyone take you in?" he persisted. "Was it just your magic?" That, he could use as context to help understand what Alim was saying. Shemlen were terrified of magic, and so were most city elves. It at least made some kind of _sense_.

"I doubt anyone knew I had magic. The templars would have had me a lot sooner if that was the case." He paused, pulling his arms tighter. "But why didn't anyone take me in? I don't know. Why would they? I did have a place at times, but people have their own families to look after. And I made it hard I suppose. I… You hear stories about the Templars and don't want people finding out, calling them, so you stay out of the way. Not that… not that I didn't have a bed sometimes. Or that my sister didn't help when she could but it was a year of..." Alim faltered, avoiding even glancing at Jael, and, for a brief moment, seeming completely lost in the middle of his own story. "But when I asked about where I slept, I didn't know myself. Most of the time, I didn't know. And I didn't know if I'd eat. So the Templars caught me and took me to the Chantry and I was given food, cleaned up, put in a bed..."

Alim threw his hands up and walked back toward the hut. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to tell stories."

"Alim… wait?" The mage had a head start, but Jael had longer legs. He caught up before they were in eyesight of the others and caught the mage up in an impulsive hug. It was a sincere, if awkward apology, made moreso by the fact that he nearly wound up with his chin resting atop Alim's head. It was an almost instinctual reaction to seeing the other elf looking so unsettled. "Abelas. It's not you. It's just..." Jael sighed. Alim wasn't the only one struggling to dissect and articulate norms ingrained so deeply in his understanding that trying to describe them was like trying to describe how one drew breath. "I'm trying to understand what happened -- how it was allowed to happen -- and I just can't get my head around parts of it. But it's not you. I think I understand your part in it a little better. How it was for you?" If only because he'd been torn away from all he knew a few days before. But at least he had hope of returning. Alim didn't even have that -- the Alienage and the Circle were both shut to him.

Alim stayed stiff in Jael’s embrace, but he didn’t push away. "It wasn't just me, Jael," he said finally. "I was just the only one to have the Templars."

"No, it wasn't just you." The agreement was soft and oddly grateful. Alim's quiet reminder had tugged Jael's thoughts away from the cusp of a broader and enormously unsettling revelation, and there were only so many of those a body should be expected to process at one time. Especially when there was so little to be done about them.

Jael loosened his embrace with a murmured apology, but didn't try to put distance between them.

"This is not license to start tossing your cloak on me whenever you feel like it, you realize," said Alim as he stepped away. "Not that I haven't been stealing it anyway, I suppose."

"So I should make you come begging instead?" Jael affected an injured tone. "I'd hate to give you such a low opinion of the Dalish. But we can argue it more while we watch over the fires. I don't like to think that we've left the dog as the only guard between Morrigan and Alistair."

"One thing," said Alim as they returned to the fire. "'Abelas'? What does that mean?"

"It's an apology," Jael explained. His smile widened just a fraction. "Have I not used it often enough? But, more formally, it's..." Jael searched his memory for the translation. "'I sorrow with you.' Empathy."

"It's a good word,” Alim admitted. He looked over at the meat. "How long before that's done?"

Jael followed Alim's gaze to the narrow, tent-shaped frameworks he and Morrigan had constructed. They were webbed over from near their peaks to only a few inches above the ground, with the meat unseen inside. "We cut it thin, and Morrigan's webs will trap the smoke well. If we can keep it smoking like this halfway through the night, it'll keep for a week on the road. We won't even have to cook it, so we won't starve if we have to make a cold camp."

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear that," Alim said and took a seat beside Alistair.

Jael opened his mouth to respond to Alim, but proximity to Alistair made him think better of it. He walked a circuit of their hastily-made smokers instead, assuring himself that none of their hard-won bounty had fallen into the flames. There wasn't much worry about the smoked meat going bad. It would keep for a week, but they could only process so much at a time. If they had enough to keep their bellies full until they were in Lothering again, they'd be lucky.

By the time he'd joined up with Alistair and Morrigan again, the dog had left her post to pad at his heels and collect a few scratches behind her ears.

"How are you doing, Alistair?" Jael asked.

Alistair blinked. "What?"

"I asked how you're doing." Jael made an effort to keep his tone neutral as he implemented Alim's advice. He didn't have to like the shem. He just had to make sure he wasn't going to sulk right into the Archdemon's maw. "You've been in poor spirits since Ostagar, so I ask."

Alistair looked sideways at Alim before answering, but the mage could offer nothing more than a shrug. 

"Thank you. I'm better, I suppose. Better than before," he said. "I just miss the Wardens. Not that you two aren't good company of course but, you get to know people and… I miss them."

"You'll have a chance to avenge them," Jael said. He kept his voice low. His anger was still more at Duncan and his damned order of Wardens than at Loghain, but let Alistair assume what he wanted. "Loghain first, then the Archdemon. We'll find a way."

Alistair nodded, his expression hardening. "Loghain first. He shouldn't get away with what's he's done."

Jael didn't give a damn if one shem wanted to kill off another, but he'd happily sacrifice Loghain if it meant more strength on their side. The Archdemon was the larger threat.

"Whatever it takes," he said lowly. Perhaps to himself.

"Eventually," said Alim. "For now, I wouldn't mind hearing a bit about the other wardens. I wish we'd had a chance to meet them."

Alistair scratched the back of his head, his anger seeming to ebb away in the face of happier memories. "Well, they might have surprised you. At least if you were expecting serious and forbidding Grey Wardens; we laughed a lot more than you might think. And they felt like family. We were all cut off from our former lives, had been through the Joining. You two know about that part of it at least."

Jael gritted his teeth at the reminder, but caught Alim’s gaze at the edge of his eye. Alim motioned for Jael to sit. After a moment, Jael gave in and lowered into a cross-legged sit. If he had little patience for Alistair's grief then at least he might learn something from his stories.

"They were quite a group," Alistair went on, obviously gaining enthusiasm for the topic. "There was this one time..." The young man cleared his throat and pitched a green twig onto the coals of the nearest smoker. "Well, you probably don't want to hear stories about men you didn't know.”

Jael frowned. "Only men? No women or elves?"

"Not as Grey Wardens. Not while I was there, anyway. I saw pictures of some, though, women and elves both. The Warden who stopped the Fourth Blight was an elf, actually. Er..." Alistair colored slightly. "I don't remember his name," he admitted. "He was one of the last griffon riders, I recall that much." He moved back to more contemporary topics with haste. "There was one Warden of ours who came all the way from the Anderfells. What was his name? Gregor? Grigor? He was a burly man with the biggest, fuzziest beard you've ever seen. And the man could drink. He drank all the time but never got drunk. Finally we all made a pool to see just how many pints it would take to put him under the table."

"Sounds like you had a lot of fun together," said Alim.

"Sometimes. It doesn't have to be deadly serious all the time, certainly wasn't that night. Anyhow, we never did find out. Gregor said he'd drink a pint for every half-pint the rest of us drank. He was still going by the time the rest of us were passed out. I'm told that Duncan walked in later on and saw us all passed out from one end of the hall to the other, and Gregor still drinking. Duncan laughed until he nearly… until..." Alistair's voice faded until he was silent. Finally, he simply shook his head, unable to finish.

"I'm sorry, Alistair,” Alim said. “I wish I could have known that Duncan.”

Alistair shrugged. "No need. I thought I was done with this, but… it just struck me that I have nothing to remember Duncan by. Nothing at all. There's no body, not even a token of his that I could take with me. That must… sound really stupid to you. I just would have liked something of his, that's all."

"That doesn't sound stupid at all. Ostagar took a lot of things from us. It would be nice to have something back from it."

"Hmmm. Maybe when this is all finished..." said Alistair. He shook his head. "But that's enough moaning for now. I haven't done much today and it's getting late. I can maybe make something for supper."

"No!" said Alim, a little too abruptly. "I mean, there's not much to cook, right, Jael? And you said you were going to show me some things anyway...?"

Jael nodded at once and rose to his feet. "I did promise, didn't I?" He had thought to go find Morrigan, in truth, but he suspected that she preferred to be allowed as much solitude as possible. Showing Alim the basics -- the _very_ basics -- of how to cook was at least a better use of time than chasing someone who didn't seem to need or want watching over.

"So what are we starting with? What do you know?"

"I know when meals were served in the dining hall and that the kitchen was the place I could occasionally sneak an apple from." Alim spread his hands. "Other that, nothing."

Jael laughed softly. Ah, gods. He knew what Master Ilen had meant now all those times he'd said sometimes a teacher had to laugh or go mad. "Well, it is good that we don't have anything very complicated to start with, isn't it? First lesson in cookery, then: a little fire never hurt anything."

\-------------------------------------

Unsurprisingly, dinner was charred bear again. This night's repast was definitely more well-done than the previous, but Jael supposed that was what happened when a cooking lesson took an unplanned turn into a discussion of parasites. Jael wasn't inclined to complain, truth be told; it seemed that one thing he and Alim had in common were broad standards for what qualified food as edible.

Morrigan was considerably less impressed. "You were aware that the animal was dead well beforehand, I hope." 

"I take no chances, Morrigan," said Alim. "Jael told me all about parasites. Although I may have gone a little too far." Alim grinned as he tossed a bit of burnt meat into the fire."

"You're certainly thorough," grumbled Alistair.

"I try." Alim muffled a yawn. "Now, if nobody has any objections, I think I'll take last watch and get some rest now?"

No one did, it seemed. Jael left his cloak with Alim and headed out to the smokers for first watch. A cold wind had sprung up, rustling the treetops in a chorus of whispers and causing the low, smokey fires to dance wildly in their silk shelters.

It was all wrong. The smells, the company… even the blood in his veins was strange and corrupt now. His dreams were not his own, but the realm of some beast from the most depraved depths of the Fade. And there was literally nothing to do but push forward. His clan was out there somewhere. His family. All he had to do was endure until the threat was ended and he would see them again. He had to believe that.

"Tomorrow night, I'm getting first or last watch," Alistair said as sat down beside Jael. Jael only just kept himself from flinching. How deep had he been in his own thoughts to miss Alistair waking?

"Thank you by the way, for talking a bit about the others,” Alistair went on. “It helped and… I don't want them to be forgotten."

"We all lost something at Ostagar." It was easier to use Alim's words than to risk letting his own feelings slip through. "But I should apologize for the watch. It's just easier to have something to do than it is to sleep sometimes." Especially with the dreams.

Alistair looked at him a moment longer then was comfortable, seeming to hear the unsaid. "It gets easier, sort of. At least you get used to expecting the dreams. But you should get what rest you can if we're moving on tomorrow."

It was good advice. Jael's first instinct was still to resist it, simply given the source, so he kept his gaze fixed on the fire a few moments longer before finally letting his common sense take hold. "All right. Yell if anything looks suspicious, and keep an eye on the meat."

Jael took himself back into the dim interior of the hut, sparing a moment to glance up at the chill, distant stars shining in through the gaps in the roof thatching. It was good that he wasn’t completely hemmed in. He curled up at Alim's back with a sigh that shifted to a grunt as the dog planted herself against his back in turn, pinning him between her bulk and the slighter elf.

“Is this a regular thing now?” Alim asked drowsily.

"You're less likely than Morrigan to turn me into a toad if I decide it's cold enough for a cub-pile," Jael murmured in return. "Don’t complain. At least you don't have dog claws in your back."

"True enough," Alim chuckled. "But if you don't mind, because I'll likely forget the question by the morning, what is a cub-pile?"

"Piling together like a litter of cubs for warmth. It's a good way for children to keep the chill out." He snorted a laugh. "Or older, if you're not picky about personal space."

"Sounds entirely sensible to me." Alim shifted. As much battering as he’d taken that day, Jael wagered he wouldn’t have much luck finding a comfortable position, healing or no. "Another question, although tell me to be quiet if you'd rather sleep. When Alistair mentioned Garahel earlier, you didn't seem to know about him?"

Jael sighed and pillowed his head on his arm. "Which one was Garahel? The one with the beard? Why should I have known about him?"

"That was Gregor, the man from the Anderfels who could drink the rest of the under the table." Alim shifted to his back so that he could face Jael. "You should be paying attention to those things. Alistair is the most experienced warden here and likely knows quite a bit we don't." He paused. "Sorry, didn’t mean to lecture. Garahel was the elf who stopped the Fourth Blight. I'm surprised you don’t know his name."

Jael frowned. "The most experienced Warden here didn't know the name of the Warden who stopped the last Blight, and you're surprised that I don't? Anyway, he wasn't a Dalish elf, I can tell you that much."

"But he was an elf," said Alim. "And you're the first elf I’ve met who didn't know about Garahel. I think it's probably the first story most children hear in the alienage. He was from an alienage as well, rode a griffon with the wardens and died ending the last Blight."

And a lot of good it seemed to have done the elves of the shem cities, if Alim's childhood was anything to go by. Nor did it escape Jael's notice that he'd once more been found wanting for the same shortcomings that Alim seemed to excuse so easily in shemlen. Still, he couldn't deny that his curiosity was roused.

"And what else? Did he have any children?"

"What else? Saving Thedas from darkspawn isn't enough?" Alim said, laughing. "You're a very hard man to impress. I don't know if he had children, none of the stories mentioned them if he did, but it wouldn't be surprising given his reputation."

"You told me the ending going into the story," Jael pointed out. "So I have to ask about everything else." He didn't bother denying the bit about being hard to impress. His mood wasn't the most generous and he knew it. "So what was his reputation?"

"He was supposed to be a very skilled and experienced lover." Alim grinned.

Jael snorted. "Of course. Sounds like a very sad tale to me. Die with a demon in your head and no family to carry on your line."

Alim gave Jael a hard look. "Stop being an ass. He's important. The Dalish may have forgotten about him, but the rest of us haven't."

The verbal nip actually provoked a quiet chuckle from Jael. "That wasn't a criticism. I'm Dalish, remember? All of our important stories are sad ones." He nudged Alim gently under the cloak. "Go on. I'm listening."

"You need to talk to someone who could do the story justice," said Alim, shaking his head. "Eadric, another mage at the Circle, he could tell it well. And there's a ballad about the battle of Aysleigh. It's been years since I last read it."

"If I spent all my time waiting for the perfect version of a tale, I would know nothing," Jael protested. "You're here and you know. So tell me what you can and we'll fill in the rest if we find a book to read about it or a minstrel who'll work for bear meat."

Alim groaned, throwing arm arm over his eyes. "I had a friend who used to ask for stories about elves when I first came to the Circle. He told me later that my stories were what convinced him elves were just as boring as humans. Well, I've always heard that Garahel was from an alienage and an orphan. In the Circle they said he had a sister as well, and she was a mage, but I never heard that in Denerim so… who knows? He joined the Grey Wardens, his sister too, if he had one - if that's the version of the story you hear I mean." Alim shrugged. "And he rode a griffon. The Fourth Blight began and he started gathering allies and people to help fight the Darkspawn… elves who'd escaped slavery, apostates… Eadric loved that bit. Eventually they drove them back - I think this was up in Antiva - and Garahel killed the archdemon. Died doing it and ended the Blight. Then the griffons disappeared, but I don’t know the story behind that."

Jael had remained quiet while Alim spoke, and seemed to have little to say after he had finished. Finally, "Ma serannas. You didn't do badly." He shifted position so that he and Alim were back to back. "When you say 'always', did you know this story before you went to the Circle?"

"Of course. I don't remember when I didn't know some piece of it. There was a children's rhyme about his griffon, but don't ask me for that. I don't remember a word of it. That's why I was surprised earlier. You're the first elf I've met that didn't know of Garahel. But then, you're the first Dalish I've met."

"I didn't know anything of the Wardens until… all of this. The Keeper barely mentioned them and I don't think hahren Paivel ever did." Jael twitched a shrug against Alim's shoulder. "I suppose they had their reasons. Maybe there were just too many stories."

"Maybe they don't know it? But it's not about the Wardens. Or at least that's not why they… why we tell it. It's about an elf." Alim sighed. "Pointy ears and all so he counts, right?"

"I'm not arguing that." Jael rolled over to face Alim again. "But I don't think you can separate his story from the Grey Wardens. And that could be why I never was told the tale." But even given all that Duncan had done, he couldn't imagine why the Wardens would be so reviled that they wouldn't even be cautioned against as enemies. "Or maybe I never asked the right questions."

"I can't imagine how you would know what the right questions are." Alim said. "Do you know any stories of elves who rode griffons? Were famous for their skill at making love before they went and saved the world?"

Jael laughed softly. "I know stories of elves who rode halla, who fought to their last breath defending wolf cubs, and risked a painful death to carry living history out of Tevinter. But no. No griffons." His sleepy grin went wicked. "And if I tell you what I know about elves who went wooing all unrestrained, you'll be back to thinking I'm trying to sneak back under your skirts. But those will be… very interesting questions to ask the Keeper when I get home, I think."

Alim gave Jael a light jab with his elbow. "I was joking about the skirts. Never again, I promise. I will be entirely serious from now on," he said. "And in that spirit, we should probably get some sleep. This is going the way of late nights in the Circle dormitory - long stories and sketchy humour."

Jael sobered. It truly was a poor idea to forget where they were and the danger they were in. "Sleep is a good idea," he murmured. "Good night, Alim. Rest well."

"You as well," said Alim. "And thank you. It's good to have a friend to journey with, if I can call you that."

"If you like. It's better than some other things you might call me." Jael’s answer was glib, but anything else meant thinking on why words that were meant to do anything but harm made him ache so. "Good night."


	11. Return to Lothering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party hopes to get in and out of Lothering with as little attention drawn to themselves as possible, but trouble finds them there, both coming and going.

Starvation seemed the only hardship the group was spared over the coming days. The pelt they’d worked so hard to collect was a heavy burden, and they were more than once tempted to leave it behind. The chill in the air had deepened as well. Though the cold seemed to bother Morrigan very little, it left all three Grey Wardens huddled together for warmth in their stark camp. The nights were restless and short on sleep, for they were well aware that the darkspawn had been given more time to pick up their trail and they could not afford to skimp on watches. With no sheltering walls to hide their light, even fire was a luxury they dared not risk, and the meals of quick-smoked elder bear and days-old murkroot were not easy on the stomach of any, save the dog.

The three days they'd first estimated it would take to reach Lothering stretched into four. They found the King’s Highway near dark on the third day, but, to Jael’s eyes, it was no encouraging sight. Corpses were a frequent sight along the road, some seeming to have met their end of natural causes, some with evidence of prior injury. A few had their throats slit. Among the dead was the occasional corpse clad in armor, soldiers from Ostagar who had survived the darkspawn and struggled to reach aid, only to succumb to their wounds or the predation of their own kind.

It was nearly noon by the time they reached Lothering, and the sight of it was of no more comfort than the Highway. Where there had been a handful of tents and wagons on the outskirts the morning they’d left Lothering with Duncan, now the town’s southern approach was packed with makeshift shelters.

Jael wrinkled his nose as they drew closer. 

"Fen'Harel's cock… I can _smell_ the town from here." He’d infiltrated shem holdings before, but only during the night when he was unlikely to be spotted, and he’d been too sick to pay especial attention to his surroundings his last trip through Lothering. This first good look at shem civilization was not impressing him.

"'It is a good thing that we will not be there for long," said Morrigan. "If there isn't disease running through that mob now, there will be soon."

"Maker." Alim said. "We'll have to be careful. Tensions were bad enough last time we were here. I can only imagine it's gotten worse."

Jael nodded, remembering the night he'd spent treed with two terrified elves. "If we didn't need supplies, I'd say that we should just continue on our way. I'm not even sure there's going to be anything left to trade for that won't cost more than we can afford to give." He jerked his head toward the makeshift tents below. "Canvas has got to be going for more than a little smoked meat and a bear pelt."

"If there's enough need, we do have a healer," said Alistair. "People pay a lot of money for that sort of thing in the best of times."

Alim looked uncertain. "That's not something I've ever done for payment..."

"And not something you should do down there," said Morrigan. "Unless you don't wish to leave." She threw a withering glance at Alistair. “Lest you forget, we do not have Templar sanction here.”

Jael hissed a frustrated breath out between his teeth. "Truth. Let’s hope they don't remember you from last time, Alim."

"Last time?" asked Morrigan.

"Nevermind," Alim said quickly. "I doubt we'll run into anyone familiar in the crowd."

"I doubt that anyone here will be looking too closely at new faces," Alistair put in. "They’ve got to have larger concerns right now."

“We don't have much choice in any case." Jael started walking again. "Let's go."

There wasn’t a proper road into Lothering, just a dusty, unpaved turnoff from the highway. A group of men loitered there, encircling an ox-drawn wagon halted at an angle just in front of the turnoff. Jael’s first thought was that the dwarven driver had gotten himself into some trouble with his beasts and was being aided by the shemlen. As they drew nearer, that impression was proven only half right. The men were a rough gathering, and they’d barricaded the highway beyond with broken boxes and overturned carts. Their gear was mismatched, some of it leather so old and ill-cared for that it was starting to rot, while others wore bits of plate armor bearing what looked like the sigils of shemlen nobility he’d seen at Ostagar. They had their hands on their weapons and, far from providing aid, they were laughingly taunting the red-faced dwarf in the driver’s seat as he tried to urge his restless oxen past their ring. 

"Highwaymen." Alistair spat the word before Jael could form a question. "Preying on those fleeing the darkspawn. Now we know what happened to those soldiers on the road."

 _"Shem'alas."_ Jael’s profanity was far more weary than outraged. "The hospitality gets worse each time we set foot in this place. Let's get this over with."

One of the bandits, a lean, dark-haired human, nudged the others as Jael and his companions drew near.

"Look alive, gentlemen. More travelers to attend to." He laughed in genuine surprise as he got close enough to focus on Jael. "And lead by an elf, of all things!” He stepped away from his fellows to speak to Jael. “Greetings, Ser Rabbit! As you can see, my companions and I have taken custody of this road, keeping the village safe from riff raff and such. But if you want the benefit of our protection, you have to pay the toll."

Morrigan sneered. "They are fools indeed to interfere with us. I say we teach them a lesson."

The bandit leader's smile grew cooler as he eyed them up. "The toll applies to all equally. That includes knife-ears, deserters, and wilder sluts. A simple ten silvers, and you're free to go on your way."

“We don't have that kind of coin," said Alim. "We don't have _any_ coin."

"Ah! And if I don't believe you? How do we solve this predicament?" 

Morrigan sighed. “I suppose we could kill you,” she said. “That seems like a reasonable solution, does it not?”

Jael hesitated, pinned by indecision. Even through the haze of sickness clouding his memory, he recalled the brief feeling of invincibility that had come with taking Ser Jory’s legs out from under him. And there might be six bandits to their four, but surely that was nothing when half their own number had magic! But even so... such hot-blooded thoughts were up against a lifetime of caution drilled into his mind: striking openly against shems almost always caused more trouble than it was worth. Even worthless scavengers like these might find defenders if it became known an elf was the one to cut them down. No, then. No matter how much he longed to answer Morrigan with agreement.

"Do you really want to fight Grey Wardens?" he asked the bandit leader, putting as much growl into his voice as he could muster. "None of you together look like a match for darkspawn or those who hunt them."

"Grey Wardens?" The bandit who spoke was a thickly muscled fellow with a shaven head and an ugly cleft taken out his right cheek. He looked to his leader with some trepidation. "Dex, them the ones what killed the king!"

"Traitors to Ferelden, I hear." Dex looked them over with a speculative gleam in his eye. "Teyrn Loghain has put quite a bounty on any who are found."

Alistair choked on his fury, but Jael ignored him. "Have it your way, then." He drew his blades before the bandit could take another breath and tried to drive past his guard. Dex got his sword out just in time to parry Jael’s strike.

Morrigan was almost as swift to attack as Jael, and Alim was only a heartbeat behind her. Frost and lightning leapt from their fingertips, scattering the bandits trying to tighten the circle around them.

Jael didn't break his focus, even as Alistair stepped up beside him. The bandit leader had no intention of surrendering his life easily. Jael had killed humans before, but never one that was uninjured and on his feet, and he knew too well that overconfidence would get him killed. But the shem was slow. Slow and sloppy. Warmaster Arawnin would have cut him to pieces already, and it was just a matter of time until...

There. The bandit panicked and lunged, overextending himself. Jael side-stepped, sword up to guard, and whipped his short blade across the bandit's throat. He left the man choking on his blood and stepped in to slice at the big man slamming his club against Alistair's shield.

A wet crack and a grunt of satisfaction from Morrigan sounded off to his left. 

"There’s the use of a staff in battle, Circle mage,” she said. “There is little point in wasting mana on such easy targets, yes?"

Jael didn’t bother hiding his smile at that. With their leader down, the bandits were losing what little battle discipline they’d had. One pair were pinned against their own barricade, and, from the sound of things, Alim and Morrigan were cleaning up the two who’d had better sense than to trap themselves. For all the good it had done them. Makeshift armor and short blades were of limited use against two trained fighters with swords, and utterly useless against the elemental onslaught from the magic users. 

The last of the fight went out of the bandits as their numbers were cut down. Jael kept one alive at swordpoint just long enough to confirm their leader's story about the bounty on Wardens before he cut the man's throat.

"Was that really necessary?" Alistair asked quietly. "He wouldn't have gone after us again."

"Not on his own, perhaps," Jael murmured back, then pointed his blade at the town below. "But I don't imagine there's any lack of desperate men down there who'd come after us for that bounty. Better to keep that secret to ourselves for as long as possible. Fewer people will be hurt that way." He wiped his blade clean on the bandit's shirt, then turned his attention toward the dwarf. No, _dwarves_ , he realized, as a curly blond head peeked from inside the covered wagon.

"Hail." Jael waved before he approached. "Are you injured?"

"In pride only." The driver hopped down from his bench. Despite the rescue, he still ran his fingers down his short, neatly-plaited beard in quick, nervous strokes. "That was a mighty timely arrival, my friend. I'm much obliged. Name's Bodhan Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur. This here is my son, Sandal. Say hello, my boy."

The dwarf in the wagon smiled amiably and waved. "Hello."

"Road's been mighty dangerous these days," Bodhan went on. "Mind if I ask what brings you out here? Perhaps we're going the same way."

"Jael Mahariel, and these are my companions." Whose names were none of the dwarf's business, really. What he'd said about the bandits applied to the men they'd rescued as well. But Jael didn't for a moment think Alistair or Alim would go along with killing two merchants just to be on the safe side. And, in truth, the idea didn’t sit well with Jael either. "We're heading into Lothering to see what supplies they have."

"Ah." The dwarf shook his head. "I wouldn't recommend it, my friend, I really wouldn't. I thought I might do the same, get a bit of trading in. But even from here, that town fairly reeks of desperation. Bad situation all around."

Jael's interest perked slightly. "Perhaps we might trade, then, and both of us avoid Lothering."

"I'm afraid I'm not much of a general supplier, my friend," was the quick response. "So far as provisions go, I carry just enough for me, my boy, and the oxen. I bid you farewell and good fortune, though!" He turned his head and called to Sandal. "Come on, boy, come on. Let's clear a path and get these beasts moving again."

"And we have work of our own to do," said Morrigan quietly. She gestured towards the bodies. "It was a bit of good fortune that put them in our path. I doubt we were their first victims and would venture to guess they have some coin on them."

Alistair frowned. "We're looters now too?"

"We need coin, and this seems like the most trouble-free way to get it." Alim looked down at the man he'd just killed. "Besides, a fair bit of that coin probably belongs to the people down in Lothering. I imagine the Chantry could use a portion of this to help them."

"First we get our supplies," Jael said firmly. "Then anyone's free to do as he sees fit with his share." He nodded down at the scattered weapons. "Those might be worth something in trade as well. Not to mention these scum might have bounties on their heads themselves, depending on how long they've been at this."

"I'm not sure why any of us should be taking a personal share from stolen coin. If we'll have what we need, why look for profit?" asked Alim.

"We might find what we need for today. That doesn't mean we won't have need of money between here and Redcliffe." Seeing that he wasn't likely to get much help from Alim, Jael went about his scavenging, collecting the bandit’s abandoned blades. "This arl may or may not provide for us when we show up on his doorstep. Until then, we need be prepared for anything. Especially if we're truly all that stands between this Archdemon and Fereldan's ruin."

"I don't much like it either," said Alistair quietly as he bent down to search the dead man. "But I guess Jael's right. I'm not sure what good the bit of coin we find is going to do the crowd down there anyway."

"Anything would help," said Alim.

“I think we’re helping quite a bit already,” said Jael. He rolled the collected weapons up in one of the bandit’s ragged cloaks, then bound the unwieldy bundle with the big man's belt. 

Alistair grunted then bent down to poke through the dead man's armour. He pulled a small purse from behind a belt and tossed it to Alim. "There's some ‘anything’. Not much by the feel of it, but you can count it out. We'll figure out shares after."

Alim counted out the coins, then grimaced.

"I'm beginning to think Morrigan's idea of the worth of a Circle education isn't entirely wrong," he said. "Two silver, seven coppers. I know twenty bits to a silver, but I don’t know what it’s _worth._ I have no idea what we can buy with this."

Jael shook his head at Alim’s expectant look. "The Keeper never sent me to barter with humans. I can count, but I've never had to haggle. And I think we'll have to."

Alistair held his hands up. "Don't look at me. It's not as if the Revered Mother gave me her shopping list and sent me skipping off to market day."

All eyes turned to Morrigan. She glanced up from the crate she was inspecting, her expression pinched in preemptive disgust with the lot of them.

"Morrigan," Jael prompted, "you said you've had to trade with the merchants here before. So you'd know how they deal, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you need to hear again that the people down there are desperate? Things won't be as normal. It may take all we have just to acquire the most basic supplies."

"But we'd have a better chance with you speaking for us."

Morrigan rolled her eyes again, but held out her hand for the pouch.

"At least I'm not the only one who's useless in this regard," said Alim as he dropped the purse in her hand.

"There's no need to flatter yourself." Morrigan gave him a faint smile before waving them off. "There's likely more. Not much, but we'll need every coin and it won’t be found if you're all standing here telling me how incapable you are of simple bartering."

Jael rolled his eyes, but went back to hunting through the boxes and crates of the makeshift barricade. It was behind one of the crates that he found the body of a man in Templar armor. His helm was badly dented and his throat slit; his shield bore the sigil of a tower on top of a red hill.

Likely he'd been lured out of sight and attacked. These bandits were either very bold or complete idiots. Either way, there was much that could be placed at the feet of dead men, including missing Templar coin. Jael rifled through the man's pockets, coming up with a purse with a few coins in it and a folded note.

"Alistair." Jael tossed the purse to Morrigan as he drew near his companions again, but held out the note to Alistair. "Look at this."

The confusion on Alistair's face didn't last long after unfolding the note. "This is from one of Arl Eamon's knights. Where did you find it?"

"On a body they'd hidden out of sight. Is it anything important?"

"I can't tell just from the note," Alistair admitted. "From the looks of it, he was on a quest for the arl. Hunting for an urn. It doesn't mean anything to me specifically, but something must be going on at Redcliffe. The arl would want all of his men nearby with Fereldan in turmoil. We have to go to him!"

"We'll get there as soon as we can," Jael said. "Once we're done with matters here. How much do we have total?"

"The arl pays his men well," Morrigan admitted, though not bothering to hide her satisfaction at a templar's messy end. "With this, we have a bit over three gold in mixed coin. Perhaps t'will be enough."

"Let's go, then."

The stench Jael had noted before worsened as they descended the wide stone stairs that led them off the highway and down into the village. Tents and makeshift shelters cluttered the approach to the village. Negotiating their way around the barren fire pits and screaming children was slow progress. They were an odd enough group that they garnered a few tired looks, but those looks were quickly averted at the sight of weapons and Morrigan’s cold gaze. Jael wondered if encounters with bandits had become common enough that any armed men were avoided. 

When they reached the gate they found it guarded not by the local Bann's men, but several armed and armored Templars. 

"You might as well move on." said the closest. He pushed up the visor on his helm, as if to get a better look at them. His gaze lingered on Alim longest, but he said nothing of his appearance and turned his attention back to the group. "You won't find any room here."

"We have no intention of staying," said Alim. "We're just passing through-"

The Templar shook his head. "Passing through or not, there's nothing here for you. We've enough trouble helping those who are already here. You'd do better to head back and swing around the village, just swing wide. There are bandits out there ready to pick you clean."

"They won't bother anyone else unless the rats here have delicate stomachs." Jael didn't bother to elaborate, trusting that his meaning was clear enough. His hands were clear of his weapons, but he held the Templar’s gaze unblinking. "Surely that should be enough to earn us passage through your town."

The Templar grimaced. "All right. You can pass through. Go on, I don't want to see any of you here come sunset."

"You're free to come looking." Morrigan's smile was sloe honey as she sidled past with the others, treading on Jael's dust. "We might quite enjoy it, in fact." 

"Oh, this will end well," Alistair muttered.

"Morrigan." Jael did his best to pull her attention back to the moment. "Supplies?"

Morrigan shot Jael a cutting look, as if she'd expected better of him. "Oh, very well. This way. The landlord at the inn may be a more valuable resource than these scrabbling coin-pickers." She swept her staff toward a pair of merchant wagons parked near the bridge. "This way." She took the lead, guiding them toward the bridge and the Dane's Refuge inn.

"E-excuse me."

The hesitant hail caught Jael's attention. A trio of elves -- a man, a woman, and a girl -- stood in the lee of the bridge to avoid the crowd, practically in the muddy rut of Lothering’s fouled river. The man, seeing that he had Jael's attention, dared move closer, though he regarded Jael with wide-eyed wariness. What Jael first took for grime on the elf's face were fading bruises at closer look. The woman, Jael noticed, kept her distance with the girl.

"Greetings to you, good ser. If..." He swallowed hard, then lifted his head a bit. Battered and wary as he was, apparently dignity wasn’t quite beyond his reach yet. "If it's isn't too much to ask, might you spare some bread? Or anything?"

Jael looked the other elf over, took in his ragged clothes and bruised face. "What happened to you?"

"We thought it would be safe here in Lothering," he said, glancing away. Desperation began to show through manners already worn thin by fear and deprivation."We thought the teyrn would bring his soldiers here. But the Bann’s abandoned us! We've been left to fend for ourselves. And… and when my family tried to leave and make our own way, bandits attacked us. They took everything!"

"It _is_ you!" the girl said suddenly, squirming out of her mother's hold. "Da! Da, look!" She pointed up at Jael. "It's the werewolf I told you about!"

"Senna, hush!" the girl's father hissed, trying to corral his daughter.

"No. It's fine." Alim spoke up at Jael’s side, a note of relief in his voice that Jael couldn’t figure out. "She's right, we've met before."

"I wasn't talking about you." Senna managed a frown before her father grabbed her and pulled her back behind him. 

"I apologize for my daughter," he said quickly. "It's been a difficult time and she's excitable. We used to live above the smith's here in the village. Then things turned sour and suddenly no one had time for a few elves like us." He looked from Jael to Alim and back, visibly struggling to maintain his composure under the humiliation and uncertainty of his circumstances. "Surely you understand?" His last words wavered uncertainly, and little wonder. Even travel-stained as they were, mage robes and armor set Alim and Jael as far apart from the desperate elf as he and his family themselves were from the humans of the village.

Jael took a step closer, looming over the slighter-built elf even as he lowered his voice. "We met those bandits and killed them."

The elf's eyes widened as his gaze fell to Jael's sword. "You… killed them?"

"Listen." Jael let a hard, impatient edge creep into his tone. "Move quickly. Help yourself to whatever's left at their blockade before word spreads and these others beat you to it. Take what you can and head north along the highway, fast as you can. You should catch up with a dwarven merchant, Feddic. Tell him Jael Mahariel sent you. He owes us. Make him take you along in his wagon until you find someplace to resettle."

"It's not so easy," the other elf insisted. "Resettle where? In another village as bad off as this? A damned Alienage?" He looked back at his family, then to Jael. "At least once all of these refugees move on, things will go back to how they were."

"Knowing the shems here didn't spare you a beating, did it? Or being turned out of your home and into the fields. Do you think it will keep you and your family from starving in the mud of this river?" Jael pressed the last of his bear meat into the elf's hand, then, after a moment’s thought, a pair of knives from the bundle of purloined weapons. "You have a chance to get away now. You may not get another."

The elf didn’t reply. His wife reached took Jael's offerings. "He's right. We've had nothing but misfortune since this all started. There's nothing left for us here."

"Do you think those were the only bandits out there?" her husband asked her. "It’s easy enough for them to tell us to leave, but they won't be with us when the next pack of brigands decide to help themselves to what we have. We'll see what we can find up on the highway but more then that..." He shook his head. "We don't have swords, Mari."

"I do," hissed the little girl. She waved a stick at Jael from behind her father. "I'm not afraid of thieves."

"We could take them with us," Alistair murmured. "When we move on, I mean. At least until Redcliffe."

Morrigan shot him a withering look. Jael mirrored it.

"Have you forgotten that we're being hunted by creatures worse than bandits?" He turned his attention back to the family. "We might be a worse option than the road or staying put. But as to the road or the river... it's your choice either way. _Darath shiral._ " Jael rejoined the others on the bridge. After a moment, the elves vanished into the crowd, presumably making haste for the bandit camp.

"You did them a kindness," Alim said. "At least they'll have a few supplies."

Morrigan snorted. "Yes, a few supplies to be taken from them again. I hardly think it's a kindness to make them a target."

"And they weren't before?" Had Morrigan not been so vital to their own progress, Jael might have snapped at her. "Those bruises weren't new and I doubt the bandits were the ones who made them. A slim chance on the road is better than the nothing they have here."

* * *

Dane’s Refuge was living up to it’s name, crowded outside and in with the same crush of desperate people that Alim had seen all over the village. Jael pushed through them, and Alim fixed his gaze on Jael’s back to avoid being recognized. Morrigan had no such worries, and despite the chaos, managed to catch the proprietor's attention. She brushed aside his exclamation of surprise at seeing Alistair, had Jael haul the hide and weapons onto the bar, and began to haggle. 

Most of the crowd was too concerned with their own misery to pay much heed, so when a group of armed men seated at the far side of the common room focused on Alim and rose to their feet, he tapped Jael’s arm to draw his attention. Of course, Jael had already noticed; his hands were resting on the hilts of his blades in anticipation of trouble.

“Look what we have here,” said the tallest of the group as they approached. They stopped just a staff-length away, more than close enough for Alim to see that they were in soldiering gear. The speaker grinned unpleasantly, looking Jael over. “I think we’ve just been blessed.”

“Loghain’s men,” muttered Alistair. “This can’t be good.”

“We just spent all morning asking after elves of your exact description.” The man narrowed his eyes and swept the nearby patrons with an accusatory look. “It seems we were lied to.”

“We’ve only just arrived,” challenged Alim. No point in avoiding attention now. “These people don’t know us.”

“Gentlemen.” A woman rose to her feet, abandoning her seat at the fireside where she’d been comforting a pair of children. The sunburst pattern of the Chantry adorned her careworn robes, wordlessly announcing her calling. “Surely there’s no need for trouble. These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge.”

“They’re more than that,” the leader snapped. “Now stay out of our way, sister. If you protect these traitors, you’ll get the same as them.” 

The casual threat toward a Chantry sister elicited a gasp from someone nearby.

“We’ve betrayed no one,” Jael said firmly. “And we’re just passing through anyway. We’re not looking for trouble, but if you press us, we will defend ourselves.”

“I’m afraid it won’t do much good to reason with them,” the Chantry sister said. “This one looks to blindly follow his master’s commands.”

“I am not the blind one!” The soldier all but roared the words. “I served at Ostagar! There the teyrn saved us from Grey Warden treachery! I serve him gladly!”

“Enough talk,” the soldier snarled. “Take the Wardens into custody. If the Sister or anyone else interferes, kill them!”

The soldiers drew their weapons and the crowd around them retracted. Alim grabbed Morrigan’s arm and pulled her back before she could act. 

“No magic,” he ordered under his breath, “not in here.” Too many people who could get harmed, and too many people who might react after the soldier were dealt with.

“As if I need it.” She jerked her arm free. She changed the grip on her staff and stepped forward to join Alistair and Jael. A movement to the side caught Alim’s eye; it was the Chantry sister, suddenly holding a short blade in either hand.

Alim’s surprise was interrupted by Jael catching his shoulder and pushing him behind the rest of the party. 

“Stay there,” Jael said. “Otherwise you’re just waiting for a sword to find you.”

Alim started to object, but even as he brought his staff up to mirror Morrigan’s grip, he fumbled his hold. Best to take Jael’s advice, however much it stung his pride. But he watched closely as his companions engaged the fight; he didn’t want to attract even more attention, but if it came down to drawing attention or having one of the others bleeding out on the floor of this crowded inn, he’d step in himself.

Despite Jael’s seeming lack of regard for Alistair, the two were back to back almost at once, striking hard forward while protecting each other’s flanks. Morrigan stood alone and unarmored, but it hardly seemed to bother her; her staff gave her reach greater than Jael and Alistair’s blades, and the force of each lightning-fast blow staggered her target before sending him reeling to the floor. 

As for the odd Chantry sister, she never landed a blow so far as Alim could tell. Instead, she feinted at the soldiers, harrying them so that the others could take advantage of distraction. In what seemed to be mere moments, it was over. Jael and Alistair had their battered, bleeding targets pinned at swordpoint. Morrigan’s soldier was not so lucky; he was on the ground with a useless leg and an arm that bent where there was no joint.

“All right!” The man on the ground raised his good hand. “All right! We surrender!”

“Good!” The Chantry sister’s tone was ridiculously cheerful, given that they held four lives at their mercy. “They’ve learned their lesson and we can all stop fighting now.”

Someone tapped Alim on the shoulder, and he turned to see Danal glaring darkly at Loghain’s men. “I don’t care what you do with that bunch but take it aside, eh? I don’t need to be scrubbing their blood out of my floorboards.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Alim glanced at Jael, who looked ready to cut Loghain’s men open on the spot. “But I don’t think it’s up to me.”

“I don’t want them reporting to Loghain,” Jael growled at the sister, advancing on the nearest of them. 

“No! Let them be!” she demanded. “They have surrendered.”

“Jael, the bounty is already out.” Alim put a hand on Jael’s arm and kept his voice low. “The entire village is going to know we’re here now and someone is bound to run to Loghain, whether it’s these men or some farmer after the coin.”

Jael turned his head enough to meet Alim’s gaze, but kept his weapons trained on their enemies. “If we kill them, at least it’s that much longer before we have armed and trained men on our trail. It might make the rest of them think twice on it as well.”

“He’s right.” Alistair’s words backed Jael, but there was an uncertainty in his tone. “And won’t that be fewer men Loghain has at his disposal?”

Jael’s reasons sounded cool and practical, perhaps even reasonable given the circumstances, but surrender, to Alim, meant they had been been given a duty of care. Murder was most certainly a violation of that. Nevermind that was a Chantry sister standing right there, watching them as they debated. 

“It’s just two men… and hardly a match for us in any case. You don’t need to do this.” It sounded weak, but he doubted Jael had the patience for a drawn-out discussion on the issue. “I know it’s not my decision. If you kill them, don’t do it here, at least.”

Jael frowned. “Morrigan? Do we have what we need?”

“If you mean we have our supplies, then yes. We may leave this stinking cess whenever it pleases us. Hopefully soon.”

Jael slowly withdrew the point of his blade from the man’s neck. “Take your men and get out,” he snapped. 

Alim let go of a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding in. 

Their leader scowled at Morrigan. “And go where? This wilder bitch broke my leg!”

“Don’t expect me to weep if it takes you that much longer to crawl back to your master.” Jael sheathed his swords. “Let’s get going. We’ve wasted enough time here.”

“A moment!” It was the sister again, still holding her unbloodied blades. “Thank you. Thank you for sparing them. It was a kindness and we are short enough in those as of late.”

“It was foolish,” said Morrigan. “As is standing her to listen to you sing our praises.” She turned to collect their supplies.

“Then let us go,” said the sister.

“Us?” asked Alim.

“Of course. You handled those two men easily enough, but I can see you need help. I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not. We have enough obstacles in our way without being preached and nagged to death. And we can defend ourselves without hiding behind the skirts of the godsdamned Chantry.” Jael gave the sister a wide berth and went to assist Morrigan. Alim offered a quick, apologetic smile to the sister for Jael’s language.

“You don’t understand!” she protested. “The help I can offer you is not solely in bladework. Please. My name is Leliana. I’m a lay sister of the Chantry here in Lothering. Or I was.”

“And what do you want from us?”

“Those men said you are a Grey Warden. That means you will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do. And I know after what happened at Ostagar, you will need all the help you can get.”

“Not from the Chantry,” Jael said firmly. “No one asked you to step in and no one’s asking you to come along. Now leave us be.”

“But the Maker wants me to go with you.” Leliana pleaded. “I know that sounds insane but-”

“The Maker does _not_ want you to go with us,” said Alim. The Maker talked to no one; claiming that he did marked her out as mad or worse, a heretic. One more sword wasn't worth the trouble that might cause them on the road. 

Leliana turned to Alistair, but he simply shrugged, admitting his helplessness in the face of Jael’s decision. All appeals exhausted, all she could do was watch as they left her behind.

The tavern encounter seemed to have left Jael restless; he set a fast pace through the village, pushing for the northern gate and the road back to the highway. It wasn’t until they had reached the gate that the sight of the gibbet cage, the focus of so much ire on their last pass through Lothering, still hanging just past the gate. There was still a body in the cage and Alim expected the stench of carrion in addition to everything else. Instead, the cadence of a strange language met his ears. 

Jael headed for the cage. Alim followed his gaze toward its lone occupant. The imprisoned man was broader and taller than anyone Alim had seen before. His skin was the same deep grey of Circle stone, and he didn’t cease his chanting until he looked up and noticed Jael staring.

“You are not my captors.” The man’s voice was deep, but rough and cracked. “But I will not amuse you any more than I did the humans. Leave me in peace.”

"I'm not sure I'd call this peace," said Alim, stepping forward to get a better look at the man through the bars. The prisoner’s white hair was woven into numerous tight braids against his scalp. His ears had subtle, almost elven, points to them. "You were in that same cage over a week ago, when we were here last."

"That can't be right," said Alistair quietly. "They generally don't give people food or water once they lock them up like this."

The prisoner’s impassive expression never changed as he spoke. "Yes, I shouldn't last much longer."

"That's a long time, too long, too go without water." And to Alim's mind, too long to still look as strong as this man did. 

"Compared to your kind maybe. I am Sten of the Beresaad, the vanguard of the Qunari peoples. I do not wilt so easily."

"It seems not." Jael was frowning, his attention more on the cage than the man inside it. "Why are the shemlen holding you prisoner?"

"I have been convicted of murder. Have the villagers not spoken of this?"

"We haven't had much reason to speak with them on local matters." Now Jael focused on the man himself. "Who did you murder?"

"The people of a farmhold. Eight humans, in addition to the children." It said with an utter lack of passion, whether pleasure or remorse. No wonder the crowd had been so angry, so easy to incite, that last night in Lothering. The punishment was cruel, but the crime was abhorrent and his simple even-toned statement of fact almost seemed an attempt to diminish the horror of it. 

“We should move on,” Alim said quietly. “There’s nothing to be done here.”

Jael didn’t appear to hear him. His dark eyes were still on the prisoner, and his expression was thoughtful. “Why did you kill those people?”

“Reasons matter less than the deed, and that cannot be turned back. My life is forfeit now.”

Jael folded his arms over his chest, his gaze skeptical. “So you would prefer to die? I doubt that, or you would not have been taken alive.”

“I would prefer to die in battle. But my choices have been made. Death will be my atonement.”

“I can think of less wasteful ways for you to atone. Fighting darkspawn, for one. You could help me and my companions…” Jael nodded to the others. “...defend this land against the Blight.”

At that, the first glimmer of interest showed on the Qunari’s face. “The Blight? Are you a Grey Warden, then?”

“We are Grey Wardens,” blurted Alim. “Jael, we need allies, but this…” Certainly there was a line? They couldn’t be dismissing vaguely nutty Chantry sisters and welcoming in murderers, could they?

“It seems sensible to me. A Qunari warrior would be a prize. To leave him here, condemned by Chantry cruelty to starve or be torn apart by darkspawn…? A pity.” Morrigan shook her head. 

“If it bothers you,” said Alim, not at all convinced that it did, “We can appeal to the Revered Mother and ask her for a quick end.” He looked to Jael. “But suggesting that we take him with us is ridiculous. How can you trust him?”

Jael appeared to ignore the question, speaking only to Sten. “I’ll leave you be, for now. But we’ll come back for you.”

It wasn’t until they were in the thick of the crowd again that Jael spoke to Alim. “Give me the other side of that question, Alim. Why shouldn’t we trust him?”

Alim almost laughed. “Murdering an entire family isn’t enough? You have no idea what the circumstances were or if it might not happen again, here or somewhere else - like Redcliffe.”

“We don’t know what the circumstances were because he didn’t try to justify himself. He didn’t defend his actions at all, he didn’t even try to soften them. And he wants to atone so badly that he’s willing to accept a slow death as a suiting punishment. That sounds to me like someone who could be of better use than gibbet carrion.”

“Until he does it again. Maybe his desire to atone is sincere but that doesn’t mean he can refrain from killing more innocent people if something goes wrong.” Alim paused for a moment to give the next question weight. “If we were heading for your clan, would you take him?”

“If there were darkspawn threatening me and my Clan, I’d want as many strong arms and spare targets between my people and those monsters as possible,” Jael answered bluntly. “I’m assuming this ‘Revered Mother’ is the one we need to talk to about freeing the Qunari since their headman’s apparently run off?” 

“Most likely,” sighed Alim. Jael had made his decision. “But keep in mind that at some point we’ll be through the darkspawn and walking into Redcliffe with him. You should have a plan in case something goes wrong. I don’t imagine the Arl will be too willing to help us if one of our company is picking off his people.”

“Is this a shemlen custom I’m unaware of? Do we introduce ourselves with a list of our worst deeds first?” Jael cursed softly as he pushed back against the crowd, leading the way toward the Chantry. “If he starts casually slaughtering people, we put him down. If not, we let him atone. By dying in battle with the darkspawn if that will make him happy.”

The Chantry was even more crowded than the streets, to the point that the party had to squeeze through single file. The narthex was packed so densely that picking out one figure, even if she was in Chantry robes, seemed a more impossible task than ending the Blight.

“I thought I would see you again.” Alim nearly jumped at hearing the woman’s voice; the Chantry sister from the inn was at his elbow, an unruffled calm in the storm. “Are you looking for me?”

“We’re looking for the Revered Mother,” Jael said, the title slow and deliberate. “Can you take us to her?”

“I don’t think we’re going to just get in by asking nicely,” Alistair muttered. “She must be handing out blessings by the bucket.”

“I think I can help,” Leliana insisted. “Follow me.”

She led them through the crowd, navigating with gentle taps and concerned smiles. The people stepped aside, affording her the respect her robes demanded, but also returning her smiles with warm ones of their own. If Sister Leliana was odd, at least the people of her Chantry seemed to regard her with some affection. When they reached the other end of the Chantry, she took them through a tall set of doors into a smaller room, an office of a sort dominated by tall bookcases, and behind a large desk, an older woman in the robes of the Revered Mother. She looked up and for a moment Alim caught a glimpse of utter exhaustion in the lines of her face, but it fell away as she noticed their guide.

“Sister Leliana! I’m surprised to see you are still in Lothering.” She glanced from Leliana to the rest of the group. “Still here and with more souls seeking aid? Is there something I can do for you?”

“I only offered escort your Reverence,” Leliana said. “I’ll let them speak for themselves.”

“Of course.” She nodded to the group, then addressed herself to Alistair. “Have you come to make a donation to the Chantry?”

“No.” Jael’s tone was firm, pulling the Revered mother’s attention reluctantly to his face. When he spoke, his tone was flat and cold and bordering on disrespectful. “I’d like to speak with you about the qunari imprisoned outside of your gates.”

The woman’s lips thinned at mention of Sten. “It might have been kinder to execute him, but I leave his fate to the Maker. Why does the fate of a barbarian invader interest you?”

“We’ve set ourselves against the evils running through this land. The qunari has a strong arm, and he speaks of wanting to atone for his crimes. I was thinking you might release him to our custody. He can die in our service as well as he could in your cage.” 

That he would die in the service of the Grey Wardens seemed an odd detail to leave out. Alim glanced at Alistair, hoping to catch his eye and encourage him to speak up, but Alistair was keeping his eyes on the stone floor under his feet. It seemed their request was at the mercy of Dalish suspicions about the Chantry. 

“And if you cannot control him? Or if he simply lies?” the Revered Mother asked. “Then his next victims might well count you and me as their murderers.”

“Surely you can put a bit more faith in your Maker where his fate is concerned,” Jael said.

Alim closed his eyes and sent up a wordless prayer to Andraste. 

The Mother frowned then turned to Leliana. “And what do you say on this, Leliana? You know your… friend better than I, surely.”

“These are unusual times, Your Reverence, but I do believe that the qunari would do some good if allowed to atone.” Leliana said. Her voice was soft, but the sincerity was absolute. “I’m sure of it, in fact.”

The Revered Mother lifted her gaze toward the ceiling for a moment, breathed deep, then nodded. “Were the situation not so desperate… but things are as they are. Very well.” She walked behind her desk and removed a small ring of keys from the top drawer. “I trust you. Take these keys to his cage, and Maker watch over you.”

“Your Reverence?” asked Alim. He nudged Morrigan and held out a hand, ignoring the sigh of disgust she made as she fished out his share of the coin. It wasn’t much, a few dull coppers in his palm, but even if he hadn’t intended to donate, she’d certainly earned it with her patience with Jael. He approached the the Revered Mother and passed it to her.

“And a blessing if you would?” he asked. “It’s been too long.”

“Of course,” she said. “For you and any others present who wish.”

Behind Alim, Morrigan snorted. “I do not wish.”

Alistair and Leliana stepped forward and the three of them kneeled while the Mother recited her blessing. Given the weight of the task before them, it was less of a comfort then Alim had expected. Still, the few moments of stillness, of the familiar that recalled easier days, offered a bit of peace and when he stood he felt a small measure of reassurance.

Jael and Morrigan were already standing at the door, not bothering to hide their eagerness to be away from the Chantry. This time, Jael made no protest when Leliana fell into step with their party. Apparently, he had decided that Chantry sisters did have their uses.

“Come on,” he said. “The sooner we leave this place behind, the better.” 

Once they were back at the cage, Sten regarded them evenly from between the bars. “You wish something more of me?”

“If you’re serious about atonement,” Jael said, “you can travel with us. You’ll have all the darkspawn you care to fight.” He held out his hand to Leliana, who dropped the keys into his waiting palm.

Sten stared as Jael undid the lock. “I confess, I did not think the priestess would part with it. But if I am to be released to your custody, so be it. I will follow you against the Blight.”

Jael left the keys hanging in the lock and stepped away, giving the qunari space to swing open the cage door and step down. Unfortunately, they’d drawn the attention of nearby villagers and refugees and there was a sudden elevated level of chatter amongst them. Even if those new to Lothering didn’t have direct reason to want revenge on the qunari, they had surely heard the tale of how he’d come to arrive. 

“Might I suggest we depart?” asked Morrigan, her arch tone making it far more than suggestion. “You may interrogate the man on the road, Mahariel.”

“Yes, best to leave before the rest of the village realizes you’ve freed the Qunari.” said Leliana. “Your act of mercy will not go not unrewarded, I fear.” 

“Between that and the bounty…” Alistair began. He stopped when the sister grabbed her loose robes and began to pull them up over her head. Alarmed, he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Wait! What are you doing?”

She shook off his grip and removed the robes revealing the leather armour underneath. “Going with you of course. I told you before that was my intent. You may not believe in my calling, but I’m bound by it, and whether you choose to take me or not, I’ll follow.”

Alim stared at the robes in Leliana's hands. The day had gone from odd to a full tilt into absurdity and there was nothing he could offer to challenge that now. They had taken on a murderer, what point was there is refusing the help of a heretic? “You can fight. Jael?”

“She’s been useful once. Why not again?” But Jael's attention was more on the gathering crowd. It was now large enough to block their departure, thanks to the Chantry sister's show. Alim lowered a hand to grasp a handful of his robes. Maybe if they ran… 

But Jael turned to address the crowd. “We’re leaving. If you plan to be between us and the highway, I’d suggest thinking better of it.”

The man who stepped forward to speak was a good foot taller than Jael and gripping a heavy, iron-tipped cudgel. 

“With respect, elf, you’re a trio of king-killers, a Chasind witch, and a known murderer. Maker only knows what that ‘sister’ actually is. We’d be fools to let you go, especially with the bounty on your heads.”

Alim could almost hear Jael’s last thread of patience snap.

“Let me put it another way, shem.” He drew his blades. “Which one of you is willing to die to put gold in the pockets of strangers? Because I have no intention of ending up in one of your cages simply because you’re all foolish enough to listen to a traitor’s hirelings.”

Alim heard the crackle and snap beside him, saw the dance of light across the faces of the villagers. He could feel the rough edges of Morrigan’s control, where she relied on the strength of her will to keep her show contained rather than well-honed skill. Not that it mattered to the crowd. The people were beginning to look scared, to realize that perhaps they were outmatched. It wouldn't take much to make them see they were making a dangerous mistake.

Alim pulled at the Fade, letting the mana flow through him, shaping it with careful movements in his hands and fingers, and holding its manifestation with the focused image of a glyph in his mind. It wasn't a wisp this time. It was a ball of fire, bright and alive, hanging in the air between himself and the crowd. It burned and there wasn't a lick of flame that wasn't in Alim's control.

It was enough for the crowd. Someone shouted for the Templars and the mob broke, deciding as a group that the risks were suddenly not worth taking. Morrigan and Alim held their spells a moment longer before Jael turned and signaled the group to leave.

“I understand why you had the time to learn staffwork now,” Alim yelled to Morrigan as they ran towards the highway. It wasn't fair of him. She wasn’t bad with primal magic, but for the moment, he intended to relish the fact that he was better.

“‘Tis a pity all your learning made you but a little better at one thing and hopeless at all others,” Morrigan shot back. The fact that she was able to keep up almost effortlessly with even Sten’s long strides was extra salt in the wound; by the time Jael slowed the party to a walk, Alim was gasping for air. 

“We’ve got a head start, at least,” Jael said, looking back toward Lothering. “If they bother to come after us at all. I’m not sure they’ll leave the village undefended. All the same… let’s make camp well away from the road tonight.”

“Can we never do that again?” Alistair was hardly better off than Alim, but at least he had the excuse of having had to gallop along in plate armor. “I’d like to make it to Redcliffe without being arrested by Templars.”

“Do you not like being hunted?” Morrigan asked snidely. “Think on that a bit. I’m sure the irony will sink in, given a month or so.”

“You never stop, do you?” asked Alim between breaths. “Nevermind. No one knows where we’re heading so I doubt they’ll be hunting us down the whole way.”

“Except for those men who you so kindly spoke for in the tavern, Loghain’s men. No doubt they’ll be reporting to someone in short order, giving them our descriptions. How long do you think it will be before they realize Alistair survived? And where he might run for aid?”

“We’ll have to stay out of sight as best we can,” Jael agreed. “But we can’t make ourselves invisible. We’ll just have to push our speed and hope Loghain’s men aren’t too quick to leave behind their crippled.”

Without another word, he set off at a fast walk, clearly meaning the others to keep up with him. Alim took one more moment to rest, muttered a curse about wild witches and long-legged Dalish and set after him. 

* * *

Their luck had been looking better to start. They’d decided it was safer to travel away from the highway and cut across wilder areas. Concerns about having to stretch supplies meant for four (not including the dog) to account for six had been somewhat abated when they managed to frighten a small pack of wolves away from a fresh kill on the first night. Alistair had wrinkled his nose at the prospect of wolf-gnawed mutton; no one else was inclined to complain about a night of all the roast they could eat and guaranteed breakfast.

Their hopes of avoiding detection proved futile on the second night out. It was nearly midnight when the camp was wakened by the dog screaming in pain and Sten’s bellowed challenge.

“Up!” Jael’s orders came on the heels of Sten’s rage. “We’re under attack!” 

Alim threw off Jael’s cloak and scrambled to his feet. A moment later, the camp lit up brighter than day as a lightning bolt struck the spot where Jael had set up watch with the dog.

A stranger’s voice cut through the chaos. “The Grey Wardens die here!”

A second light bloomed in the night sky, but this time it was Morrigan giving the party a chance to see their attackers and pick their targets. A figure caught Alim’s attention, a woman without armour whose hands were moving through the air, already drawing and shaping mana for another attack. Alim threw a bolt, hoping to at least break her concentration. It dissipated harmlessly on her shield, but he had her attention. When she cast, her lightening struck out at him alone, and he had only a moment to call up his own shield before it shattered into sparks against it. 

It was chaos all around, but chaos in their favor, despite the ambush. Only Jael was armored, but it seemed the mage had missed her mark; he moved among the fighters like a lightning bolt himself. Sten had neither armor nor sword, but the next flash of light illuminated the sight of him staving in an armored fighter’s helm with a length of firewood. Screams mixed with snarls beyond the main fighting said that the dog was not idle either.

A shadow broke off from the melee, a shadow with eyes that threw back light like a cat’s. It locked eyes with Alim, seemed to take measure of him, shielded and set upon, then closed in. The knives in its hands glistened with blood already.

 

Alim almost noticed too late. He took a frantic step backward. The shadow leapt, and its bloodied blades punched through his shields. Alim’s heel caught the hem of his skirt, he toppled backwards, and the attacker’s steel missed its mark by a hair. 

They hit the ground hard. The shadow had his knife set across Alim’s throat in a heartbeat. Then all Alim saw was a blur as a heavy body threw the attacker off his chest.

Ragged, furious elvish announced Jael as Alim’s rescuer before Alim could properly tell the thrashing figures apart. A woman screamed in the background; it quickly trailed off into wet gurgles that were drowned out entirely by muffled snarls. Now the only light was the fire and Morrigan’s own magic.

Jael’s was atop the shadow, an _elf_ , straddling his middle. Somehow both had lost their blades in the struggle, but Jael’s hands were locked around the other’s throat. Alim’s attacker struggled, breaking his nails against Jael’s vambraces as he tried to pry his grip loose. But Jael had too great an advantage in size and strength to be moved, and seemed fixated on squeezing the life from his enemy.

“Don’t kill him!” yelled Alim. He rolled over and reached out to trace a small pattern on the downed elf’s forehead. The grip on Jael’s forearms loosened, then went slack as the elf slipped into unconsciousness. “He’s out until I wake him. We’ll need to ask questions, won’t we?”

Jael didn’t seem to hear; his lips were twisted in a snarl. His hands stayed locked in place as the assassin’s breath rattled in his throat.

“Jael!” Alim grabbed Jael’s forearms himself and tried to pull his hands away from the elf’s throat. “Leave him. The others need our help.”

Jael’s head snapped around. His eyes were burning and, for a moment, Alim’s words didn’t seem to register at all. Finally, he relaxed his grip and let Alim pull him away. 

“Watch yourself,” he breathed. “I don’t know if the dog got all of the archers.” He managed to find his blades and rose to his feet, turning to head back into the fray.

Alim stayed close to the prisoner, picking off enemies as he could. There was little sense in prying Jael off the elf only to leave him unprotected in the middle of the battle. Across the clearing, still lit by Morrigan’s magic, he watched Leliana cut her way through the fighters with a speed that might have matched Jael’s.

With the mage down, it didn’t take long for the rest of the ambush to fall apart. Jael, Sten, and the dog pursued the last of them, pulling them down without mercy. 

“Alim! Alim, over here!” Leliana waved frantically. “Alistair’s hurt!” She knelt by a still form in the midst of the strewn bodies. “Hurry! He’s hardly breathing!”

Leliana was already cutting the straps of Alistair’s armour when Alim arrived. He dropped down to help, pulling at the fabric of Alistair’s shirt to push a hand underneath; it slipped over warm blood until his fingers found the smooth edges of the wound, and he took a quick breath to calm himself before the healing began. A moment later energy flowed across the veil, through his hand to knit the flesh and close the wound. As serious as the wound was, the healing itself was simple and in a short time a rough scar formed under Alim's hands.

"He's safe now,” he said, wiping his his hands clean on a section of Alistair’s shirt. "But he lost enough blood that he won't be up and walking for a bit.”

"That's bad news if we have other pursuers." Alim glanced up. Jael had returned during the healing, but kept quiet until Alim's work was done. "We'd better find out what our prisoner knows before we wind up in another ambush."

Jael left Morrigan to watch Alistair. It seemed an odd choice to Alim, but he followed Jael and Leliana over to the unconscious elf. A brush of his fingers over the man's skin dismissed the spell and he stepped back. 

"A moment and he'll be ready for questions."

The elf’s waking groan followed close on the heels of Alim’s words. He began to stir, but it was a vain attempt. His hands were bound tightly behind his back with the belt of one of the dead, and his legs were strapped together at the knee with another. Jael’s doing, no doubt. 

“Alim,” Jael said as their prisoner opened his eyes, “give us more light.” A moment later, the whole camp -- and the elf’s slaughtered comrades -- were again illuminated by a larger version of the wisp spell Alim had used so many days ago.

“What…?” The bound elf croaked the word, then squinted into the light, groaning again. “I...uh…” He glanced at the unfriendly faces staring down at him. “I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven’t killed me yet.”

“We need you to answer questions.” Jael’s sword was still in hand. 

“Ah.” A weary smile flickered across the other elf’s face. “I am to be interrogated. Let me save you some time. My name is Zevran -- Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Of which I have failed at, sadly.”

“The Antivan Crows?” asked Alim. 

“Assassins.” It was Leliana. An odd bit of knowledge for a Chantry sister to offer. “They are out of Anitiva, very powerful and renowned for always getting the job done. Someone went to great expense to hire this man.”

Zevran smiled, looking pleased with Leliana’s description. “Quite right. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of us out here. Back where I come from, we’re rather infamous.”

“Then I suppose we should be flattered that you came all this way to kill us,” Alim said drily, not at all flattered. But the sharp edge of the desperate moment when Zevran had held the knife at his throat was being dulled by the man’s banter; Alim wanted to know more.

“Well, I admit, I was in the neighbourhood when the Crows contacted me.”

“Who hired you to kill us?” Jael’s tone had grown, if anything, harsher. The assassin's banter wasn’t getting him anywhere with Jael, it seemed. 

“A… rather taciturn fellow in the capital.” Zevran’s attention was entirely on Jael, but between the naked steel and Jael’s aggression, perhaps that wasn’t to be wondered at. “‘Loghain’ I think his name was. Yes. That’s it.”

“Another godsdamned shemlen lapdog,” Jael snarled. 

“I have no idea what his issues are with you,” Zevran protested mildly. “The usual, I take it. You threaten his power, yes? Beyond that, no, I am not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.”

“That’s all I need to know.” Jael hefted his sword.

“Wait!” yelled Alim. It was the second time in as many days that he’d stayed Jael’s hand. No doubt he was testing Jael’s patience, but he didn’t want to surrender all responsibility for decisions like this to Jael just yet. “I think summary executions deserve a little discussion first.”

“He came here to kill us!” Jael pointed at Zevran with the tip of his blade. “He nearly _did_ kill you and Alistair! Not for oath or revenge, but for coin! What is there to discuss?”

“That he’s given us the information we asked for. That’s he’s bound and of no danger to us…” Alim looked down at Zevran, struggling to come up with a reason that might tip Jael away from his resolve. 

Zevran spoke up from just beyond Alim’s ankles. 

“I should probably let you know, this service is between Loghain and the Crows. And the Crows and me. Between you fine gentlemen and myself… well, we could perhaps come to an arrangement, yes?”

“So you can turn on us as soon as you find yourself cornered again?” Jael sneered. “And go slinking back to your masters?”

“There you are mistaken my friend. I did not have so much of a choice when it came to the Crows. They bought me young, and at a bargain price, I understand.”

“You’d say anything to save your neck.”

“I can see where you would think so, yes.” Zevran was still smiling. “What can I say? I am eternal optimist, yes? And loyalty, that is an interesting concept. If you are done interrogating me, perhaps we can discuss it further?”

“He’s been honest enough with us so far.” said Alim, feeling an unexpected prick of sympathy for the assassin. “If we’re willing to take in Sten, shouldn’t we at least be willing to think about this?”

“You don’t know that,” Jael said. “What’s to stop him from finishing the job a little late, Alim?”

“That is how the Crows get their… agents,” Leliana said, though there was something like reluctance in her tone. “Or so I have heard. They buy them young and train them to be ruthless. Most do not survive the process.”

Jael stared at her. “How does _that_ make him more trustworthy?”

“It doesn’t,” Alim said. “But it means he’s telling us the truth. There’s nothing to lose in listening to what he has to say.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Jael sighed. He turned back to Zevran. “Make it quick.”

“Here is the thing...” Zevran’s gaze flicked from Jael to Alim and back. “Since I failed to kill you, my life is forfeit. Kill me now and you will just be saving the Crows the trouble. Now, I like living and you are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you instead.”

“And I’ve already said there’s no way we can trust you not to finish the job.”

“I happen to be a very loyal person,” said Zevran. “That is, up until the point someone expects me to die for failing. That’s not a fault really, is it?” Now his attention was unwaveringly on Jael again. “Unless you are the sort of person who would do the same thing, in which case, I do not come very highly recommended.” Despite his bantering tone, there was a sense that he was challenging Jael.

Jael sneered in response. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

Zevran’s smile finally died. “I think you are very tough to kill. And I am very much hoping you are the sort of fellow to take a chance every now and again. Listen, I have paid my worth back to the Crows at least tenfold by now, but the only way I will ever be free of them is to sign up with someone they cannot touch. Even if I killed you now, if they even suspected I had botched the job the first time… well, they would probably kill me on principle. I would much rather take my chances with you.”

Jael held Zevran’s gaze for a long, tense moment, then glared at Alim.

“He can travel with us for now. But his behavior is on your head, so watch him closely.” A humorless smile twisted Jael’s lips. “After all, I don’t imagine the Arl will be too willing to help us if one of our company is picking off his people.”

“Of course,” said Alim, letting himself relax a little. “I’ll watch him, you watch Sten. We’ll have nothing to worry about.” He looked to where Morrigan was keeping watch over Alistair. “I’m going to see how Alistair’s faring. I’m not sure he’ll appreciate Morrigan’s attention when he wakes.”

“All right.” Jael undid Zevran’s bonds and pulled him none-too-gently to his feet. “I’ll take Sten and the dog and get this one to show us where his people had their camp. They might have something we can use. We’ll be back soon.”

Alim nodded and returned to Alistair. Morrigan was watching Jael’s procession head deeper into the woods.

“Are we keeping him as well? Or is Jael finishing him off out of sight?”

“He’ll be joining us,” said Alim as he kneeled beside Alistair. He summoned another wisp for light and was alarmed by the lack of colour in Alistair’s face.

“I should have expected as much, I suppose. No doubt Alistair will be pleased to discover that when he wakes, considering it was our new recruit who felled him.”

“You saw it, then?” Alim said through gritted teeth. His hands lit up again as he requested aid, but this time the request was for information, not healing. 

“I did. The elf was swift as an adder. He had our former Templar down before he could react.” Morrigan laughed. “Yes, I think he’ll want to have words when he’s up again.”

Alim waved a hand to dismiss the wisp and light both. “Well, that won’t be for quite awhile. He’s lost more blood then I thought. Help me get him someplace warmer.”

It took Morrigan, Leliana and Alim to move Alistair over the the fire. He barely stirred the whole time, but at least his breathing was steady.

Jael and the others were back before long with their slain foes’ supplies. Jael dropped down at the fire beside Alim; the dog flopped beside him in almost the same movement.

“We’ve got two more tents, some food, and some coin,” Jael said quietly. “How’s Alistair?”

“Good, as long as we don’t plan on traveling anywhere for a while.” Alim sighed. “He’s lost enough blood that he won’t be walking for a few days. Even when he won’t able to keep up with us. He needs to be carried or we need to be prepared to stay here.”

Jael sighed deeply and hid his face in his hands for a moment. “Loghain’s hunting us. If he’s sending beyond Ferelden for assassins, he’s not going to stop. We need to keep moving.” It wasn’t a challenge to Alim’s assessment; if anything, his tone was weary as he spoke the problem out loud. “What about the spell you used when we were hunting bear? The revitalizing one? Could that keep him on his feet?”

“For short periods, but it’s not a cure. Regardless, it would end up doing him more harm than good. He needs to rest if he’s going to get better, there’s no getting around that.” Alim shrugged. “Maybe… maybe we could find somewhere to leave him? Somewhere to hide him and leave someone to care for him?”

Jael seemed to at least consider the plan, then shook his head. “We might need him to get into Redcliffe. And I don’t like the idea of leaving two or more behind if we are being hunted. If the next of Loghain’s men come with scouts and dogs, they wouldn’t stay hidden for long.” The dog nudged Jael’s elbow; he dropped his hand down to stroke her head. “We can’t afford to be picked off a bit at a time. It’s all of us or none of us. So… we wait, I suppose.”

“Or… ” Alim said slowly, hesitant to offer Jael a solution he wasn’t sure he could live with himself. “We could leave just him. Alone. Somewhere where he might be found if we can, but if we wait…? It’s six of us against whatever force Loghain sends after us. Two Wardens arriving at Redcliffe is better than none.”

“It won’t curry favor with the Arl if we show up at his fire after abandoning his bastard,” Jael reminded him. Another sigh. “Maybe we can put together a travois and Sten can drag him.” 

“And now I suppose I should be glad that you brought Sten.” Alim smiled. “It will be slow and I’m not sure how much rest Alistair will get, but if that’s what we have to do…”

Jael nodded. “I’ll sleep on it. Let everyone get some rest, keep the Crow up with whoever’s on watch, and we’ll get some more opinions in the morning…” He trailed off and glanced down at the dog. “You know, I’ve decided what I’m going to name her.”

The dog had been half-dozing under Jael’s hand, but now her ears perked up with interest.

“Assassin’s Bane?” guessed Alim with a nod to the bodies that had been pulled to the edge of the clearing.

Jael laughed softly. “Too long.” He glanced down at the dog, who was looking back at him now. “Ma’assan. Your name is Ma’assan.” 

They held gazes for a moment. Ma’assan licked Jael’s hand once, then settled back into her half-doze with a quiet sigh.

“If you want to pick the name apart,” Jael said, looking back to Alim, “it means ‘my arrow’. She was everywhere in that fight that I couldn’t be.”

“She’s earned it, then,” said Alim. “And thank you for where _you_ were during the fight. Again. Between wolves and assassins, I make a lot of work for you.”

“More work for me if you’re not here,” Jael pointed out. The first true smile Alim had seen in some time finally made its way to his face. “I’m not the one with healing magic.”

"Oh, I didn't say I wasn't _worth_ the work!" laughed Alim. "I'll just have to make sure I spend more time with Morrigan and her staff so that I’m not quite as much work."

Jael snorted. “Hnh. We really are lucky you’re a healer, then.” He ran a hand slowly through his shaggy hair, then looked down to where Ma’assan was licking her haunch. “Let me see…” He frowned as he got a good look at the wound. “Damned archer grazed her at the start of the fight,” he explained.

“Let me take a look,” said Alim as he sat down beside the hound. He put a cautious hand on her back end. It was the first time he’d bothered to touch her since she’d joined them. He was glad to see she didn’t flinch. There was ragged tear along the muscle of her haunch, certainly deep enough to merit healing magic. “I don’t… You might need to hold her? This might sting a bit.”

Jael wrapped his arms around Ma’assan, though the gesture seemed less one of restraint than reassurance. The dog seemed to take it as such; rather than struggle, she sighed and leaned against Jael’s chest, eyes half-shut.

“I’ve got her.”

Alim’s hands lit up as he slid them over the wound. Ma’assan let out a startled yelp as the edges closed. She struggled, but Jael kept her pulled close until Alim was finished. “That’s the first dog I’ve ever healed.”

Jael only gave Alim a hard look. “Why did you do that? You’d no reason to be upset with her.”

“Upset with her? I told you it would hurt.”

Jael released Ma’assan, who growled under her breath, but settled down against Jael.

“Wounds hurt. The healing shouldn’t.” Jael didn’t seem at all mollified by the explanation. “I know why you kept rebuking me with your magic, but Ma’assan didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

“Of course she didn’t.” Alim frowned, pausing to sort through Jael’s words. “And I’m not sure why you think I’m using healing to hurt you. I promise you, that’s not case. I’ve told you before that healing isn’t my strength. Quite a few times, I believe.”

“I thought that was on purpose. It always happened when you were angry with me.” Jael relaxed a little. “Abelas. I just never had a healing cause more pain before. With Keeper Marethari and Merrill, it was always soothing.”

“They’re better healers than I am,” Alim admitted. Indeed, he had spent most of his apprenticeship listening to similar complaints for his mentors. “But whatever you think of Circle training, or me, I wouldn’t do that. I am still a healer and I wouldn’t try to hurt someone in healing them.”

Jael nodded. “I’ll remember that.” Then, after a moment, “Thank you for healing her.”

Alim shook his head, dismissing the thanks. “I have a feeling you haven’t got the most flattering idea of who I am, that I would do something like that.”

Jael stared at him for a moment, blinking in surprise. “You used magic to keep me in place so a shem could put his sword to my throat. Why should I think you’d see something wrong with using it to rebuke me any other time?”

“Ah. Well, because it’s other magic. Healers take certain oaths… not that you’d know that.” Alim offered an apologetic smile. “I am sorry that I held you. I thought you were going to get yourself killed, like Jory, I suppose. Or both of us killed. I don’t know.”

“It’s in the past. And I know better now.” Jael’s shrug was easy, relaxed. He apparently considered the matter resolved. But then, they were alive. Duncan and Jory weren’t. “The sun will be up in a couple of hours. Can you take the last watch if Sten and I roll Alistair into a tent?”

“Of course. As long as you roll him very carefully -- or you’ll need to call me over again.”

Jael nodded. “I know. Bad joke, but that goes with the rest of the night. Good night, Alim. And don’t let that Crow out of your sight.”

* * *

The camp was roused at dawn by Ma’assan’s raspy, furious barking. Jael was out of his tent in a moment, sword in hand, only to see Alim trying to shush the dog as a familiar, green-awned wagon and oxen team came into view.

Alistair was on his feet, though none too steady. He wavered over to Jael and squinted into the dim light. “The dwarves? I thought they’d be ahead of us by now.”

“Not at the rate those cattle are moving,” Jael muttered. 

“Alistair, sit down,” Alim ordered. “You’re not to be on your feet at all today.”

Jael left Alim to tend his patient, recalled the dog, and ducked into the tent to put his armor on. No use standing around waiting until their unexpected guests arrived, after all.

“Good morning!” Feddic waved to the assembled travelers from his seat once the wagon had finally drawn near to the camp. “I thought we might find you fine folk here. I don’t suppose you remember me, but…”

“What,” Morrigan snapped, without preamble, “are you doing here? And why do you follow us?”

“Well…” The merchant cleared his throat. “We’d made camp last night, and we saw lightning through the trees, my lady. Like when your people rescued us before. And it occurred to me, it’s dangerous out on the roads, you see, just me and my boy. And there’s not much we can outrun ourselves. But you and your friends are formidable folk, and I thought… well, we might travel in each other’s company on the road from here.”

“Ah, I see. Now you have reason to rethink your cowardice and come scrambling to hide behind us!”

“Morrigan.” Jael and Morrigan held each other’s gazes for a moment. She curled her lip, but stood aside to let him speak to the dwarf. “We might,” he said carefully, “be able to accommodate each other, if you’re heading to Redcliffe. We have an injured man.”

“We can certainly help you.” Feddic nodded rapidly. “Your man can ride in our wagon and Redcliffe, well, they’re always good for some trade at this time of year. Yes, I think we can come to a beneficial arrangement for the both of us.”

Alim smiled at Jael. “That would be ideal. Certainly better than hauling a travois.”

Despite the tense night, short sleep, and the assassin now attached to their party, Jael couldn’t help but smile back. “Finally, some decent luck, hm? Let’s break camp and get moving before it turns again.”

Jael looked back to the dwarves and paused as motion above the treetops caught his eye. At first he thought it a stormcloud, but no. It was smoke. Black smoke floating into the sky from the south. 

It was Sten who finally spoke the obvious, without inflection. “Lothering is burning.”

Morrigan nodded. “The darkspawn must have come forth from the wilds.” Her wild, golden gaze raked over Jael and Alim. “Perhaps they followed the scent of their own.”

Jael hardly heard her. “Feddic.” It was hard to get the words out; his mouth had gone suddenly dry. “Were you approached by a family of elves on the road? A father, mother, and their daughter?”

The dwarf shook his head. “No, no elves. I’ve not seen a soul since I left your people behind on the highway.”

Jael kept his eyes fixed on the dark cloud a moment longer, wrestling down the sudden despair that threatened to swallow him. If he couldn’t find the right words convince three desperate elves to save themselves, what hope did he have of making choices that would see all of Ferelden spared the Blight? But then, who else was there to do it? It had to be him, at least until they knew if Arl Eamon would actually aid them. He had to get them to Redcliffe, at least. He squared his shoulders, then turned to others. “Get the tents down and let’s get moving,” he snapped. “If that is the work of darkspawn, we don’t need them at our heels from here to Redcliffe.”


	12. On To Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jael and Alim arrive in Redclifffe just in time to battle a new enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful Neria Surana belongs to ellana-will-kick-some-ass.

 

First priority was breaking camp. Introductions weren’t anywhere on Jael’s list of preparations, so it wasn’t until he and Zevran were helping Alistair onto the pallet in the back of Feddic’s wagon that Jael remembered that some of their people had ended the night considerably earlier than others.

 “I’m sorry…?” Alistair stared at Zevran in puzzlement. “You are…?”

 Even while stooped inside the wagon, Zevran managed an almost-graceful bow from the waist. “Zevran Arainai, late of the Antivan Crows.”

Jael tensed, waiting for Alistair’s understandable protest. Alistair only transferred his puzzled gaze to Jael instead. It was then he realized that Alistair had no clue of who Zevran was. Or that it was Zevran who’d nearly carved his kidneys out the night before.

 “He’s from the group that attacked us,” Jael explained. “I made him a better offer, so he’ll be using his skills on darkspawn from here on out.”

 “Oh.” Alistair gave Zevran a dubious look, but seemed to accept the explanation for the moment. “Well… we can talk about it later, I guess.”

 “Just rest.” Jael hustled Zevran down the wagon’s folding stairs before they could waste any more time.

 Zevran was smirking before his feet even hit the ground. “You don’t plan to tell him.”

 “You can tell him later if you want. Or Alim can. But I’d rather not stand here arguing with him about a decision that’s already been made when we may have darkspawn on our heels.”

 “I’ll tell him when we stop for the night, Jael.” Alim strolled past both of them toward the wagon. Or, more likely, his patient in the wagon. Alim glanced at Zevran in passing. “Until then, you can stay away from him.”

 “Zevran can walk with me!” Leliana seemed to materialize from nowhere and gave their newly acquired assassin a springtime-sweet smile. “You’re from Antiva, yes? I have never been there, but I have heard so much. If you wouldn’t mind my questions… ?”

 Zevran shook his head and returned her smile. “How could I object to a morning spent in the company of such a beautiful maiden as yourself?”

 “A Chantry sister,” said Alim as Leliana steered Zevran ahead. “We might want to ask _her_ some questions before long.”

 “After we’ve put as much distance between us and the darkspawn as possible,” Jael reminded him. There was still smoke rising into the sky to the south, and a possible horde on the march less than a day behind them. If the darkspawn stopped to torment their victims, it might buy their party a little more time, but for now they were stuck moving at the same pace as Feddic’s plodding oxen. Their best hope was to get as much of a head start as they could and pray to the gods that the monsters behind them didn’t have Redcliffe in mind as a destination.

 “Are you ready?” he asked Alim. “Morrigan’s scouting ahead with Sten, but we need to get moving. Now.”

 Alim nodded. “I need to see to Alistair, but I can do that on the road.” He didn’t spare a glance back in the direction of Lothering as he climbed into the wagon. “You’re right; we should get going. Everything behind us is already lost.”

 Alim vanished behind the wagon’s drape, but Jael heard Alistair stir at his approach.

 “That elf?” Alistair’s voice was a faint and weak. Perhaps Alim hadn’t healed him as much as either of them had thought. “Are we sure-”

 “Quiet, Alistair.” Alim’s voice, firm and no-nonsense. “You need to rest. We’ll talk about it tonight when we make camp.”

 “But it seems rather risky-”

 “Rest,” Alim repeated. “Or I’ll make you go to sleep. I’m a mage, I can do that.”

 Alistair’s reply was lost under the slap of reins and a yell from Feddic just before the wagon began to move. Finally.

 To Jael’s surprise, the wagon made decent time down the highway. But then, he supposed, oxen on a paved road could probably manage as well as an aravel over turf and narrow game trails. Either way, it was still no trouble for him to keep up on foot; he’d been walking beside aravels for almost as long as he’d been able to walk at all. Despite everything, it felt weirdly familiar to be traveling in the wake of wheels again. And there were certain members of the party who needed to _get_ familiar with it.

 Jael took a couple of long strides to come up immediately behind the wagon and knock on the doorframe. “Alim! How long do you need to stay in there?” he asked.

 Alim poked his head from behind the drape. “Until someone questions why I'm getting a ride instead of walking.” He smiled and, after a moment of judging the road, hopped out of the moving wagon.

 Jael didn’t return the smile, but fell into step beside Alim, reining in his stride to match his. “How is he?”

 "On the mend. He'll be tired for a few days, but he should be almost back to normal by the time we get to Redcliffe."

 "Good." Jael's gaze drifted over to their companions. Two days ago, there had been only three of them, bound only by a ritual. Now they were more than twice that... three times if you counted the dwarves. And that made things so much more complicated.

 "Have you thought any more on us having to lead an army against this archdemon?" Jael murmured.

 Alim shook his head. "I haven't given much thought to anything beyond Redcliffe. Leading an army... that's almost too big a thought. It might be something the Arl can offer help with?"

 “Perhaps.” Jael considered telling Alim that he’d never even led a hunting party this large and had no idea how to manage an army, but dismissed the idea in the next instant. He couldn’t afford to have any of the group doubting his abilities as a leader, not when such dissent could get them all killed. One crisis at a time seemed a good way to take things for now.

 "More than perhaps. He fought against the Orlesians and has men of his own," said Alim. "Land to host an army, the riches to feed it. All we have to do is ask.” He laughed. “Everything has been so simple and straightforward up until now. I don't see why that would change."

 Jael drew breath to respond in kind, but was brought up short by the clatter of hooves on the road behind them. He turned just in time to see two riders mounting the highway from the direction of the woods, though too far away for him to make out details. It couldn't be darkspawn at least, but what if they were Loghain's men? Or more bandits?

 As the pair rode closer, Jael could make out the crust of dried sweat on the horses. The beasts had been pushed hard. Their riders looked no better, with sparse gear and saddles that seemed too large for them. But that was hardly a surprise with elves using shemlen saddles.

 The elves slowed the horses to a walk as they approached the wagon, eyeing the mixed crew cautiously.

 Jael pushed the hood of his wolf cloak back and nodded. "Hail. We're not going to interfere with your journey."

 "You just have." The speaker was a young woman with bright red hair, and the sharpness of her gaze rivaled Jael’s knife. If she was intimidated by the group of armed travellers, she wasn't letting it show. Jael might have been more impressed if he hadn’t been up to his neck with his own troubles.

 "By all means, ride on,” he said. “But don't expect an apology because we dared use the road ahead of you."

 "I only wonder what you used it _for_ ," she said.

 "Travel only," said Alim, moving up to Jael’s side quickly.

 Feddic called back from his seat on the wagon. "It's an ugly group, I'll grant you that, but I had to take what I could find.” He laughed. “If I'd known how dangerous the roads were I would have kept my trade to the north. An expensive lesson for a poor merchant."

 “We’re not mercenaries, Feddic. And I don’t need you to lie for us.” Jael held the woman’s gaze. “And you. If you think we look suspicious, stop and consider what a pair of elves riding horses with stolen saddles are going to look like to the first shems you come across. You might want to slow down and consider where you’re going.”

 “Anywhere but Lothering will do for now.” Her expression relaxed slightly as she looked Jael over. “You’re not thieves, then?”

 “Just another group trying to keep as much road as possible between us and the darkspawn,” Jael assured her. “My name’s Jael and these are my companions. You’re welcome to travel with us for now. I warn you, though, we may run into darkspawn ourselves.”

 She shrugged. “If you do, we’ve got horses. We’ll run. It’s not as if we’d be much help in a fight.”

 Alim snorted. “If you insist.”

 Jael resisted the urge to glance back at Alim over the uncharacteristic rudeness, but didn’t press. He could get the information out of him later, when the travelers weren’t staring. “You’ll probably want to get down and walk for a bit anyway if you’re going to travel with us. Those mounts of yours could use time to cool down.” And then, because it hadn’t been offered, “What are your names?”

 The pair on horseback traded a brief, wary look, but the the man only shrugged.

 “Neria,” the woman said at last. “And this is my brother, Nathanel.” She slid from her horse, gesturing for her brother to do the same. “And the saddles may not be ours, but the horses are. Our parents had a farm south of Lothering. The… those monsters hit there first.”

 “First?” repeated Leliana. “Then Lothering is lost for certain? The smoke we saw… all those people are…?”

 “Maybe not all. We can’t have have been the only ones to get away, but yes, Lothering is gone.”

 It wasn’t hard for Jael to guess why the loss of hope brought such a stricken look to Leliana’s face. She was probably thinking of her Revered mother and all the refugees that had crowded into the Chantry, searching for safety. But that couldn’t be their concern now.

 “We need to keep moving,” Jael reminded them. “We can talk on the road.” And he could hopefully grab a moment to discuss Neria and her brother with Alim.

 Leliana nodded silently. And then they were walking again, more alert than before. It wasn’t until they stopped for a rest at midday that Jael managed to get time alone with Alim, after Alistair had been tended to.

 “So what it is about their story you don’t believe?” he asked simply.

 “The bit about not being much use in a fight. She’s a mage and she was getting ready to knock you flat when the two of you where were first talking. I had no idea there were so many apostates running around out here.”

 Jael blinked in surprise. “How can you tell?”

 “I felt it.” He said. “She was pulling at the Fade, ready to cast. Morrigan likely felt it as well.”

 Jael considered. “Do you think they’re a danger?”

 “Not to us. As far as I know, most apostates aren’t much more than hedge witches. I doubt she’d have the training to be a match for me.”

 That earned a chuckle out of Jael. “Better keep that tongue behind your teeth if you ever come within hearing of a Keeper. But if they don’t pose a threat, then there’s no reason to go back on our agreement. They can travel with us until they decide where they’re going.”

 "Seems the way of things right now, collecting every stray we come across. Give us a little time and a few more and we'll have our army. We won't need the treaties!"

 “We could do worse than an army of Qunari, assassins, and magic-users,” Jael mused. He fished a chunk of cold mutton out of his pack, peeled off the protective wrapping of leaves, and chewed for a bit. Ma’assan stopped sniffing the horses and came to flop beside him. She didn’t whine, but her eyes never left the meat in his hand. Jael relented after another bite and handed the rest over. “You need to feed yourself some of the time, you know.”

 The only response he got from that was a hopeful look and wag of her tail.

 “If they stay, we’ll have to find out what Neria knows,” Alim pointed out. He paused in the middle of unpacking his own meal. Jael followed his gaze to where Neria and her brother had settled to rest. “She might be a ‘magic-user’ but the two of them look like a couple of farm hands. Might be more trouble in the end.”

 “I prefer that to them looking like apostates.” Jael unwrapped another bit of mutton. Better to eat what he could of the wolf-kill while it was still relatively fresh. “Can you question them without giving yourself away, or shall we just drop the pretense?”

 “I’m not sure how to be subtle about it. I’d favor just telling them, but considering my robes, we might want to let them know who we are as well. Just so they don’t think I’ll be off to report them to the Circle.”

 Jael chuckled despite himself. “It would be odd if you did, considering the company you keep.” He flashed a grin and traced the _vallaslin_ </i> on his cheek. “Or I could let them know how I’d feel about that. My face alone might be convincing.”

 “ _Would_ </i> be convincing,” Alim corrected between mouthfuls of his own meal.

 That earned him a snort. “Fine, then. We might as well go talk now.” Jael rose to his feet and headed over to the siblings.

 They had just finished their own meal and were tucking the remnants back into their saddlebags. Neria’s hand went to the hilt of her dagger when she noticed them approaching. She might have accepted their company for a time, but she hadn’t extended her trust.

 “Are we heading out already?” she asked.

"Soon, but not yet. We just wanted to talk to you first." Jael tried for a pleasant smile as he gestured to Alim. "Or rather, he wanted to offer some reassurances."

 "About me, mostly," Alim said. "And your magic."

 She stiffened slightly, but her expression didn't change, nor did she offer a denial. No surprise either. Neria must have known enough about magic to understand that she'd given herself away.

 "I'm wearing the robes,” Alim went on, “but I'm not with the Circle anymore. I won't be taking word of you back to them."

 "He's with the Grey Wardens," Jael explained, trying to keep his tone relaxed and friendly. "His primary obligation is to halt the Blight. He doesn't have any interest in doing the Templars' work for them. And I'm Dalish. I have far more interest in hindering Templars than helping them. You'll have no trouble from us."

 Neria nodded, acknowledging Jael's words, but her attention had been on Alim from the mention of Wardens. "A Grey Warden? But how did the... how does a Circle mage become a Grey Warden?"

 "They asked," Alim said. "But it's as Jael says, I've no duty to the Circle and no interest in reporting apostates to them."

 She smiled and shook her head. "These are odd times, for sure. Fine, I believe you for now. No trouble from you, and you'll have none from us."

 “A fine arrangement. Enjoy your rest; we’ll be on our way before much longer.” Jael lead Alim back to their spot and settled beside Ma’assan. Something about the conversation was lingering at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t pin it down. “They took that well.” But it was almost more question than statement.

 "Very. Maybe they weren't as concerned with the Circle as I thought. I suppose they might think that, in the middle of a Blight, Templars have better things to do than chase the odd apostate."

 "Maybe." It didn't soothe the feeling that he'd missed something, but he supposed there was time to think while they walked. "Did you finish eating?"

 "A little," said Alim. "Don’t worry, I intend to finish the rest on the road." He patted his stomach. "Very important part of being a Warden it seems, along with killing darkspawn."

 "We need to ask Alistair about that." Jael scratched between Ma'assan's ears as his thoughts took a new turn. "He didn't bother telling us that darkspawn can track us. We need to know what else we're in for."

 "Tonight, then? He probably won't be up for it while he's being bumped around in the back of a wagon."

 "Tonight." Jael's felt Ma’assan shift under his hand and looked up. Neria and Nathanel were coming their way, saddlebags in-hand. Jael frowned and sat up as they approached.

 "We were talking," Neria began, stepping up to meet them. "We appreciate your offer, but we think there might be less trouble if we set out on our own. You seem like the kind who'll find trouble sooner rather than later, and not all of it may be as even-minded about apostates as your people."

 “You're sure?” asked Alim. "We might be more likely to meet difficulty, but we're a little better equipped to handle it as well."

 "All the same, I'd prefer to avoid it in the first place." She smiled. "But if we meet again, I'd certainly enjoy hearing about how you handled it."

 "I don't suppose there's much else to say, except good luck." Jael couldn't help but be suspicious that they were taking off as soon as they'd learned that one of their company was a Warden, but he supposed it was too late for regrets now.

 "And the same to you." She rejoined her brother, and after exchanging a few words, they mounted their horses.

 "That's it, then," said Alim as he watched them ride off. "We're not much for recruiting. We'll have to deliver those treaties after all."

 Jael glanced at him. "I'm sure you're devastated that we've missed our chance to march on the Archdemon with an army of apostates, but you'll have to put it aside for now. We should get moving."

 "Of course. We've got trouble to find!"

 The rest of the party was ready to depart when Alim and Jael rejoined them. Leliana had seen to Alistair, seemingly intent on making herself useful in little ways. She reported that he'd eaten and registered many complaints about being confined to the wagon. Alim sighed and was about to step up into the wagon to check his patient when Morrigan approached.

 She nodded towards the road over Jael's shoulder. "You've chased them off?"

 Jael blinked, then laughed. "Yes, Morrigan. They took one look at the Warden and his savage companion and ran for the hills."

 Morrigan glared. "They know you're Wardens and you let them leave? Is it not enough that we're to be hounded by darkspawn? Did you want to give Loghain's men our trail again so soon?"

 That chased Jael's smile off. "Free magic users have more reason to avoid the towns than we do ourselves. I doubt we're in any danger from them."

 "They'll sell you both for safe passage the moment someone mentions Templars. But that's little enough concern of mine, I suppose."

 "The Templars would have to know they're magic users first," Alim said. "I think they'll likely be more careful about revealing that in the future."

 Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "You don't think the Templars would be chasing a runaway from the Circle?"

 "She was an apostate."

 Morrigan gave him a look of incredulous scorn. "She most certainly was _not_. You felt her draw from the Fade. Can you not recognize the style of your own Circle? The difference in how you and I work our magic seemed obvious enough for you to crow over it in Lothering."

 Alim was looking down the road now, doubt beginning to creep across his face. "But it always feels like that."

 "I suppose it would to one who's never known anything but the bland workings of Chantry-sanctioned magic. Did you think I was the only exception to that rule? That every other magic user would echo what you're familiar with?"

 Alim’s eyes widened. " _Neria_."

 "What about her?" Jael asked, his gaze flicking back to Alim.

 "Careful," whispered Morrigan as she leaned in closer to Jael. "The wheels are only just starting to turn. It's a delicate process and one easily disturbed."

 Alim turned on her with a scowl, finally nettled. "Shut up, Morrigan."

 "But she's right," he said after a pause. "Neria was from the Circle, a mage. She was sent to Ostagar before I left. Damn it. How could I forget that hair?"

 Jael looked back after the retreating horses. "They’ll probably be fine without us, then, if they survived Ostagar."

 "They'd be safer back at the Circle. There _is_  a Blight going on. But I don't imagine she's headed back."

 "No. Magic users would be more likely to make it through the Blight than most. And I wouldn't be surprised if Loghain's men are keeping an eye out for her as much as Wardens. Anyone who can contradict his version of events is a threat right now." Jael pondered if they could somehow catch up to them... then shook his head. They’d already gotten too far ahead.

 "Shit. I wish she'd said something. She would have recognized me for certain. " Alim shrugged. "But that's probably why she wouldn't say something. Not to Alim Surana."

 "Why not to you? Weren't you high ranking in the circle?" Jael shouldered his pack and gestured to Ma'assan. The dog bounded to his side and leaned against him as he stroked her broad skull.

 Alim gave Jael a puzzled look. "No, I was barely out of my apprenticeship. I was just... well known, I suppose."

 Jael smirked. "Infamous, perhaps? Never mind. I'll pry it out of you on the road. Let's go."

 

* * *

 

Despite Jael's intentions, Alim didn't give him the opportunity to pry. His failure to recognize Neria was a worry he kept turning over in his mind and his distraction made for poor conversation. Jael eventually gave up and let the talk fall aside in favour of the quiet companionship of the walk.

 But Alim’s thoughts refused to follow suit. Neria had always been hard to miss in Kinloch Hold, even if he’d never run in her circles. Her bright red hair stood out like fire, and in a place where people could easily get caught up in the webs of politics - even the apprentices who liked to play in the shadows of the mages’ concerns - her quiet and centered demeanor had marked her as a rare island in a sea of self-concern. She had a way of highlighting the deficits of Circle life. Maybe that was why Alim had avoided her.

 No, he hadn’t avoided her at all, he’d simply had different interests and different friends, and Neria was no more than a satellite on the edge of that. Little wonder, then, that when she was plucked out of Circle robes and dropped onto a country road he wouldn’t know her. Red hair wasn’t a feature exclusive to Neria. And she’d been dressed in the simple clothes most of the elves out here wore. _And_ she’d been riding a horse. What Circle mage rode a horse?

 It wasn’t the fact that he’d missed who Neria was until she was already gone that needled him, though. It was the fact Morrigan had known right away. Alim harboured a blind spot that she didn’t and he could only wonder if there were more.

 The wondering kept him busy until Jael signaled a stop. He’d chosen a place to rest for the night, so Alim finally shook off his musings and looked toward Bodhan’s wagon.

 “We should help Alistair out and give him a chance to walk around a bit.”

 "If you think his kidneys won't slide out through his back," Jael said. For all Alim's balking, Jael seemed in reasonably good spirits. But he was Dalish; maybe traveling put him in a good mood?

 "No, I think I managed to secure everything and close up all the holes. " Alim smiled. "But he needs to move around. We'll just have to take care that he doesn't fall. And then... I suppose I'll have to tell him who stabbed him in the first place."

 Jael looked at Alim as if he’d just announced his intention to throw their tents onto the fire.

 "Why would we do that? We're keeping your assassin until we have reason not to. It's settled. If we tell him, we'll just have to spin out the entire damn discussion again."

 Jael's comment surprised Alim, considering the man's opinion of Duncan's obsession with secrecy. "Then we spin it out again. Alistair deserves to know, doesn't he?"

 "And if he says he's not working with Zevran?"

 "Then you tell him that he doesn't have that choice." Alim said. "He gave it up when he agreed to hand the leadership over to you. I understand this might not go well, but it will go much _less_ well the longer we wait." He paused for a moment then nodded over to Zevran where he was helping set up camp. "And _he_ knows what he did. What if he decides to say something?"

 Jael followed Alim’s gaze. Finally, he shrugged. "Do it now or do it later, I suppose it makes no difference in the long term." Jael strode toward the wagon. "Let's go see if he can stand, then. If nothing else, he probably needs to piss again."

 "Probably," said Alim as he followed Jael. Jael's concession, wrapped in dismissal, wasn't satisfying at all.

 Alistair was already sitting up. He was slumped over slightly and still much too pale, but he managed a smile when he saw the two of them. "I hope you're here to tell me I can finally get out of this thing?"

 "Only until we leave again in the morning," answered Alim. He took one of Alistair's arms and motioned for Jael to do the same. "For now, you can walk around a bit, as long as you have someone with you."

 "Wonderful." Alistair sighed. "I thought healing was supposed to take care of this sort of thing."

 Jael snorted. "Healing is the reason you're alive at all. Keep that in mind."

 Alistair seemed to weigh as much as one of the oxen, and the height differences between the three of them made getting him out of the wagon a slow, awkward endeavour. After his first few steps on the ground, Alistair declared that he was steadier on his own feet than with help and, as Jael had predicted, took a slightly tottering path to the bushes for relief.

 "If you want to help the others, I'll watch him," said Alim. "I'm not going to speak with him until he's got a comfortable spot and some food in his belly.”

 "Better you," Jael agreed, ducking away. "I might have to say something about Templar gratitude."

  “No doubt,” muttered Alim under his breath.

 “I heard something about Templars?” Alistair emerged from the bushes with a smile and looking a little more steady than he had before.

 “No, you heard something about Jael's ideas of Templars.” Alim waved a hand in front of him, at once dismissing Jael's comment and summoning a healing light. “Just a moment. You look better, but I doubt I'd survive if you fell over on me.”

 He put his hand on Alistair's chest and let the energy flow into him. It wasn't much, but when he was done there was colour in Alistair's face again.

 They managed to hobble back to the rest, Alistair’s arm thrown over Alim’s shoulder more as a means of steadying himself than real support, and found a clear spot where Alistair could be settled out of the way of camp preparations. For a moment Alim considered telling Alistair then. Certainly, he could afford to be a lot more gentle if he didn’t have to worry about what an unsympathetic Jael might say. But Jael was the leader, and it was a discussion that might require some authority to navigate. It was better to wait. For now, he could help the others with their work.

 Bodahn was at the campfire, preparing to make stew with the last of the mutton carcass. Zevran was nearby, disassembling said carcass with unnerving speed and precision. Sten and Leliana were tending to the firewood. Morrigan was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Jael, for that matter.

 That left Alim to pull the tents out from the wagon. He dumped the canvas, ropes and poles on the ground and looked up, expecting to see Jael return any moment. A little help with setting the tents up would be welcome. But Jael didn't didn't reappear and Alim resigned himself to dragging a tent back over to Alistair.

 "I'd offer a hand but I don't think you accept it," said Alistair from his spot on the ground.

 "You're right. Besides, I've put up a tent before. Once." 

Alistair smiled. "I remember. Daveth gave directions."

"And laughed," Alim said. The memory was a treasured one now, made so by the fact that Daveth was no longer here to share it.  "I'm fairly sure that was less about teaching me and more about giving himself some entertainment."

 Alim turned to the soon-to-be tent and began the work of setting it up. Leliana came over to join him before long, helping him spread the ground covers and canvas.

 "Jael went off with Morrigan," she explained. "I think they're foraging."

 "They do that. They wander off and then come back with something barely edible," said Alistair.

 "It's only barely edible after Alistair cooks it," Alim whispered to Leliana. "Thank the Maker that he won't have that chance for a bit."

 Leliana kept up her work. "We all have our parts to play, I suppose. Zevran, for example. He may have a career as a cook if he can stay clear of the Crows long enough to start a new life."

 Alim paused to look over at Zevran who was now standing over Bodhan as the latter tended to the stew. "The Crows will be after him then?"

 "Undoubtedly, yes. They could not simply allow their agents to defect as they like, non? Their reputation would suffer." Her lips thinned slightly. "And he would be a liability. A loose end."

 "I assume that isn't something you learned of in the Lothering Chantry."

 Leliana laughed and handed Alim a handful of tent stakes. "It's common sense, non?"

 "I suppose it is," said Alim, choosing to let the matter drop for now. He had enough on his plate tonight without pressing her further.

 By the time the tents were upright, Jael and Morrigan had returned and deposited their finds with Bodahn. Morrigan turned away from the fire at once, but Jael stayed with the dwarf, apparently intent on explaining how to best prepare the armful of roots and stalks. Bodahn's son finished tending the oxen and wandered over to stare at Jael with good-natured curiosity.

 Alim wasn't far behind Sandal, although it was more hunger than curiosity that drew him in.

 Jael glanced up at him. "Has he asked yet?"

 "Not yet, but I’m going to take some food over and tell him. Might as well make sure he has something in his hands so he can't reach over and strangle me." Alim offered a smile, but it was thin. It had been a long day and what was to come next wasn’t going to make it any shorter.

 Jael didn't smile at that. "I'll tell him, if you'd rather. He'll probably whine at me less."

 "I argued for Zevran, the whining is mine to bear." Alim bent over to grab a wooden bowl from a neat pile by the fire. He guessed they were from Bodahn's stock, either a nice perk of traveling with a merchant or something he would be adding to a tab. Either way, the eating utensils were welcome.

 "I'll take some now if you don't mind." He held out the bowl for Bodahn to fill. "Might as well get this over with now."

 The dwarf had his hands full with Jael's find, but Jael dipped up a bowl of thin stew for Alim, then lead the way over to where Alistair was waiting.

 "Back already?" Alistair gave the stew a look of exaggerated wariness. "Are you sure there's no snake in this?"

 "Just more wolf mutton, if that's reassuring." Jael dropped into an easy, cross-legged sit a few feet away, eyeing Alim expectantly.

 Alim took a moment to compose what he was going to say, another to dismiss it, another to decide that he probably should have taken Jael up on his offer.

 "Alistair, there's something I haven't told you yet," he said finally, sitting at the halfway point between them. "About Zevran."

 Alistair's expression was suspicious. "That doesn't sound good."

 "He's the one that's responsible for your wound. So I suppose no, that's not good." Alim knew immediately that it wasn’t the right way to say it. It sounded superficial and glib; too glib for a man who had nearly died of that wound.

 Alistair startled. "Wait... he wasn't just sent to hunt us down, he nearly killed me? And we're keeping him on?" He immediately turned on Jael. "This was another one of your bright ideas, I'll bet. First the qunari, now this. But what's a little more ‘shem’ blood between elves, right?"

 "It wasn't Jael," said Alim. "Jael was ready to kill him for what he did." If not exactly for what he did to Alistair, well, Alim didn't need to elaborate on that. "I asked him not to. Zevran's sworn an oath to us and he'll serve with us until we're finished with the Blight. But it was _me_ , not Jael."

 “ _Why?_ ” Alistair demanded. There was less anger in his voice now, but more bewilderment. More hurt. "You didn't even ask me how I felt about this."

 "He wasn't obligated to," Jael reminded him. "You gave leadership to me, and Alim consulted with me. He wanted to tell you now so you didn't get a shock later."

 "And you were fine with me not knowing," Alistair said bitterly, latching on to the implication. "I didn't know you Dalish were such hypocrites. You weren't very fond of Warden secrecy last I heard."

 Jael laughed, a harsh, rough sound that reminded Alim unpleasantly of their first days on the road with Duncan. "You can call me names when I start withholding information you need to know, _Warden._ Or shall I assume you've finally told us everything we need to know about this taint in our veins?"

 The quick rush of heat to Alistair's cheeks said that Jael had scored a hit.

 "That's enough," said Alim. The fatigue that came from having to walk the middle between the two of them made the words sound more gentle than he had intended. He turned to Alistair. "I didn't ask you because you were unconscious. And regardless of how you or I might feel about it, we have one more trained fighter to help us deliver those treaties. Considering how dangerous that's been so far, I welcome that."

 Alistair looked unconvinced.

 "Now, is Jael right? _Is_ there anything else we need to know about being Grey Wardens?" If Alim was playing the role of mediator, he might as well have all concerns addressed.

 "Nothing... nothing immediate." Alistair sighed. "Even the Grey Wardens don't talk about this much. And who's to say we'll survive the Blight long enough for this all to matter?"

 "I intend to," Jael said firmly. "Stop avoiding the question."

 "All right, all right." Alistair stared down at his stew as he spoke. "I guess you might have figured out one of the first by now. The reason you both have been tearing into every meal like it’s your last is the Joining. You'll feel like you're starving for a while, but it passes within a couple of weeks."

 "But that's just the first one?" asked Alim.

 "There are the nightmares as well. Duncan said we tap into the darkspawns' thoughts, their group mind, so when we sleep, that's what we see and hear. Some learn to block it out, some never have much trouble, but there are times it can be awful."

 "What about the dragon?" Jael asked. "I see one sometimes..."

 "The archdemon." Alistair raised his head slowly. "It looks like a dragon. And what you're seeing -- what we're all hearing in our dreams -- is it talking to the darkspawn. That's how we knew this was a true Blight, not just a few pockets of darkspawn stirred up in the Deep Roads."

 "And you couldn't just tell the King or Loghain that you knew." Jael's hands were balled into fists on his knees. "That would mean telling them _how_ you knew. Through blood magic and becoming part of the Blight yourselves."

 Alim reached out and put a hand on Jael's wrist. "It wasn't Alistair's decision, Jael. He wasn't with the Wardens much longer than we were."

 Jael looked up sharply, but after a moment of meeting Alim's gaze, gave in with a reluctant nod.

 "They probably wouldn't have listened anyway," he said, the admission coming slowly. "And it would have given them even less reason to trust a Grey Warden presence."

 "It gets worse." Alistair was looking at them both now, his expression grim. "The taint... it's still a death sentence, in the end. Ultimately, your body won't be able to take it. You will start to succumb. The nightmares never truly go away, but there will be a time when they get worse. When all you can hear is the noise of the darkspawn when you close your eyes. That's how a Grey Warden knows his time has come. Most of us head for Orzammar. For the dwarven Deep Roads. We choose to die battling the darkspawn there rather than just... waiting."

 Alim’s hand slipped off Jael’s. " _If_   we survive the Blight... if Loghain or the arch-demon don't kill us first. How long would we have if there was no Blight?"

 "Maybe thirty years?"

 "Thirty more years." Alim said slowly. It was thirty years more than he’d expected to have in the moments before Duncan recruited him. "If I manage to live through this, that seems a fair trade for ending a Blight."

 "A fair trade is one where everyone's agreed on the terms." Jael's words were ice. He stood, jaw clenched as he glared down at Alistair. "What else?"

 "That's not enough?" Alistair started to rise, but stopped himself after a moment, perhaps thinking better of challenging Jael at the moment, perhaps simply too unsteady to trust his feet.

 "I told you, I mean to live through this, even if the two of you are already dreaming of your graves. What else did you lie about?” he growled. “What else did you take from me?"

 Alistair locked eyes with Jael. "There's not much left to tell. The nightmares, the Deep Roads... it's part of being a Warden. Part of the brotherhood. I'm sorry it's so hard on you, but there’s not a thing anyone can do about it now. You need to accept it." Alistair took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. "And you need to stop thinking of the Wardens as your enemy. They're the closest most of us have to family."

 "That's your bad luck."

 "That's how it has to be!" Alistair shot back. "Grey Wardens can't have children..."

 Jael's short blade was at Alistair’s neck in an instant, perfectly still against the thin skin of his throat.

 "Put it away, Jael," Alim hissed, a spell already primed to keep the knife from cutting into Alistair. There would be no apologies this time if Jael forced his hand.

 Jael sheathed the blade, but his hand shook with barely restrained rage until he clenched it into a fresh fist.

 "The Dread Wolf take you both," he snarled. "You and the all the godsdamned Wardens." He turned from Alistair and headed into the night.

 Alistair watched him go, then breathed a sigh of relief and sank back down onto the grass. "Between you and me, Alim? The Dalish are completely, utterly crackers."

 "I wouldn't know. I've only met the one," said Alim sharply. He’d only just relaxed his grip on his magic and was in no mood to listen to Alistair try to assign all the blame to Jael. "He’s got a right to be angry. He deserved to hear that information long before today."

 "And Zevran-"

 "I told you about Zevran as soon as possible. I made sure you knew about that. How long has it been since we went through the Joining and all of those side effects came into play, Alistair?"

 Alistair sighed and looked off in the direction Jael had disappeared in. "Are you going to go talk to him?"

 "Yes, of course. Because the two of you can't seem to sort anything between you." Alim waved Alistair off  and went after Jael, trying to piece together the best way to approach what had happened without ending up with a blade at his own throat.

 

* * *

 

Jael knew it was foolish to set off alone when he was a beacon for darkspawn. But he would have welcomed the entire damned horde just for the fight they'd bring with them. Rage twisted in his gut and spurred him to keep pressing deeper into the young woods. He could remember with perfect clarity the last time he'd been so angry -- when he'd understood just how completely Duncan had misled him. And he hadn’t even known the true depths of that lying shem's treachery!

 Something rustled in the brush behind him. Jael reached for his sword, but it was only Ma'assan that burst from the undergrowth, wagging her stub of a tail... and then Zevran loped into view, hot on her heels.

 Jael frowned as Ma'assan padded up and leaned against his legs. "Go back to camp, Arainai."

 Zevran shrugged. "I just wanted to see where she was going. There is no need to growl so."

 "You've seen now," Jael snapped. "And I certainly didn't ask for your company."

 "I did not offer it, not yet at least." Zevran leaned against a nearby tree, well out of arm’s reach. "Although, out here... I think it might be best if you were not alone. You may have caught me, but there are other hunters in the night, yes?"

 "Too bad for them. Go back to camp," he repeated, giving the words more of an edge. "You made your oath to Surana, didn't you? You should be eyeing his back, not mine."

 If Zevran was going to say more, it was interrupted by the loud footfalls and rustling of someone, or something, coming through the woods. A moment later, Alim stumbled into view.

 "He appears as if summoned," sighed Zevran. He pushed himself off the tree and nodded towards Alim. "I should warn you, he's not in the mood for company."

 "I'll keep that in mind," Alim said and watched him leave.

 Jael drew up, more wary at the sight of Alim than he'd been even with Zevran. The assassin hadn't been the one threatening him with magic minutes before. Jael’s hand strayed to the hilt of his sword.

 "And what do you want?" he asked. "If you're here to berate me, you can save your breath."

 "And if I'm here to find out what made you pull a knife on Alistair?"

 And all of a sudden, Jael's rage collapsed beneath his weariness. Of course Alim wouldn't comprehend his anger. Circle mages weren't allowed families or children. Alim had even said he was _glad_  of it. And Alistair? He was too grateful to the Wardens to realize what they'd stolen from him. Neither of them could possibly understand. And he wasn't sure Alim would even bother to try.

 "You heard what he said." Jael let his hand drop. "And you know why I want to live through the Blight. You're smart, Alim. Weave it together."

 "Children." He said it matter-of-factly with no hint of sympathy. "Because you can't have children?" 

Not as smart as he'd thought, then. 

"Yes, Alim. Because I can't sire children. Because my father's line and the Sabrae blood will both end with me. But I don't imagine that means very much to you, so why don't you go back to camp and leave me be?"

 Alim looked back through the trees behind him. "I'm not sure I could find my way. I'm not sure I would have found you if I hadn't heard you talking to Zevran." He sighed then sat on a nearby log, carefully pulling at his skirts to avoid the sharp points of broken branches. "I'm at a disadvantage, Jael. Alistair tells us these things and all I think was that I was dead back at the Circle and everything since is a gift. If our life is shorter, well, I had no prospect of one at all back at the tower. If I can't have children, I was never going to anyway." Alim shrugged. "I don't mean to belittle what's important to you, but you're right, I don't understand it."

 And no wonder. Alim had an excuse for every deception Duncan had fed them and every secret withheld.

 "And it doesn't bother you at all?" Jael asked. "Even if you would have agreed to everything that came with being a Warden, it doesn't anger you that you were never told the full consequences of accepting it?"

 Alim shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe it will later when there's time to think on it, but I can't see the point of it right now. It's still more than what I had. Besides, if I _did_  get angry, we'd be rolling Alistair into a ditch right now."

 Jael waved Alim's words off. "I wouldn't have killed him... but gods damn him, he needs to open his fucking eyes!" Jael began pacing. "You may not have felt you had much of a life left to you, but I had all of mine in front of me. And from the moment Tamlen..." _No, don't think of it now. There isn't time._ "From the moment the Blight hit us, all I've done is watch everything I wanted for my life wither and die. And now I can’t even guess what will be left for me once we know everything about this wolf's bargain the Wardens pushed on us!"

 "I'm sorry," said Alim. "You should have been told."

 "I should have been. Before Duncan ever took me from my family." The heat of anger was back and Jael took a vicious swipe at the air with one fist. "But then that wouldn't have gotten him a recruit would it? And if the recruits didn't like the ‘bargain’ after the fact, then the Wardens can just _kill_ them!"

 Alim stood up and took Jael's hand. "You're right. You should have been told."

 The grip on Jael’s hand was light. Uncertain. It still brought him up short. He stared Alim in the eye, searching for his motivation. Even as brief a time as they'd known each other, Jael had seen that Alim reserved most of his understanding and care for shems. Yet his sympathy seemed genuine, if artless and unpracticed. Finally, Jael tried on a very faint smile. "You sound like someone trying to settle a skittish halla."

 "Except they likely know what they're doing," admitted Alim.

 Jael looked away. "None of us know what we're doing."

 "Least of all me." Alim's thumb slid over the back of Jael's hand and then, abruptly, he pulled Jael into a stiff hug.

 Alim's hold was awkward; he might as well have been clutching an armful of poorly stacked firewood to his chest. But graceless and unsure as it was, it was the most comfort Jael had been offered since he'd left his family. He didn't have the will to turn it down. He returned the embrace and allowed himself the luxury of hiding against Alim's neck, just for a moment.

 "We're not doing so badly," Alim murmured. "Despite what little we were told."

 Jael sighed and straightened up. "We've been lucky. And I'd rather know where I stand than count on luck. Not that we can do anything but press forward either way, can we?"

 "Right, on to Redcliffe. That should give us a bit of breathing room at least."

 Jael sincerely doubted that. He'd never felt the least bit relaxed inside a shem settlement. Even walking around in broad daylight, he had no doubt they'd wind up disregarded and ignored, Wardens or no. And that was if Alistair was even right about this arl being a good man loyal to the king; otherwise, they were walking into another fight. But what other options did they have?

 "It should mean a rest and maybe a meal, if nothing else."

 "That would be welcome," sighed Alim. "But one thing before we go back... no more knives at Alistair's throat? If he's being an ass, I can always put him to sleep. Of course, if I put him to sleep every time he was an ass, he'd sleep through the Blight."

 Jael nodded. "Fine. No more drawing weapons on those we're traveling with." In truth, he was starting to feel a little ashamed of his actions. It would have all but unthinkable among his clan. Even if Alistair was in no way their equal, he wasn’t an enemy, and there was no reason for Jael to act as if he hadn’t been raised better.

 "I'm happy to hear that. Now we should get back and get some rest, it's been a long day." He put his hands on his hips and stared into the forest. "Only you'll have to lead. I'm lost."

 Jael managed a smile. "I suppose I'll have to. Good thing we're not too far off, or I'd have to tie up your skirts again."

 Alim laughed and swept a hand out in front to signal Jael to lead the way back to camp. Thankfully, it was more or less in the right direction and Jael stepped into the brush to take them back.

 Alistair had moved closer to the fire by the time they reached the campsite, and was working his way through another bowl of stew. Jael swallowed down a sigh. He hadn't wanted an audience while he made amends, but there wasn't anything to be done about it now. He headed toward the campfire. Alim's grip on his shoulder stopped him.

 "I'm going to apologize, not finish him off," Jael said, pulling away.

 "Ir abelas," Alim said, a wan smile uncertain on his lips. Elvhan still tumbled from his tongue like a fledgling falling from the nest, but even the effort at apology dispelled Jael's annoyance at being checked. "Just... making sure."

 "Hn." Jael headed over to the campfire. Alistair's gaze locked on him well before he arrived. He didn't stand, but he did put his bowl aside and draw his legs up a bit. Jael resisted the urge to roll his eyes and dropped down into a crouch when he was just out of arm’s reach.

 "I shouldn't have drawn a blade on you," he said simply. "It was uncalled for. If it happens again, it will be for a better reason than losing my temper."

 "Well. That's comforting, I guess." Alistair relaxed. "And I'm sorry that you had to find out everything like this. Truly. You should have had the support of other Grey Wardens, more experienced ones, like I did, not a novice blurting things out without thinking on it."

 Jael wanted to shake him, but there would have been no point in it. Alistair couldn’t understand any more than Alim could. Instead, Jael nodded and rose to his feet. He’d done what was required of him, and that was all he had in him for the moment.

 Jael took first and second watch that night, standing silent vigil with only Ma’assan for company. Even the idea of speaking to Alim left him feeling more frustrated than comforted, especially the memory of that well-meaning embrace. Bridging that gulf of understanding between them seemed far more hopeless a task than tackling the Blight, but at least he could take some time in solitude to let these new losses sink in.

 

* * *

 

The next few days on the road were uneventful. No darkspawn caught them from behind, which made Jael wonder if they were purposefully avoiding the roads. Nor did they see any other signs of survivors. But then, he supposed anyone who'd planned to leave Lothering had somewhere else to go. It wasn't until the middle of their fourth day traveling that they finally caught sight of Redcliffe.

 It was hardly a welcoming sight. Even from a distance, the place looked abandoned. No carts or foot traffic seemed to be heading in or out. Farmsteads stood empty and cultivated fields full of the waiting harvest had been abandoned by all but the deer and crows taking advantage to gorge their fill. As they traveled on, they found the road into the town proper had been barricaded, but there didn't seem to be any sign of guards and, aside from the barricade itself, no warnings.

 "Do you think they heard about Lothering?" Jael wondered aloud.

 "They must have," said Alim. "Though you'd think there would be someone keeping watch for darkspawn."

 Alistair was staring past the barricade, toward the town in the distance. "There's something very wrong here. Where are the Arl's knights? If Redcliffe is under attack, they should be the first in line to defend her. I don't see anyone at all."

 "Maybe they're farther in." Jael frowned and climbed onto the wagon seat to get a better view of their destination. Alistair was right; there was no activity down the road either. Certainly no line of armed knights. "Help me clear the road, all of you. And keep a watch."

  It took a distressingly short time to dismantle the barricades and slip the wagon through.

 "These were not well built," said Sten. "A lack of skill. Or perhaps, time."

 Farmland gave way to steep hills, slowing their pace to a crawl. It was nearing evening by the time the town came into view, nestled a the bottom of a steep drop-off that was almost too much for Feddic's oxen to navigate.

 "Damned wonder how they manage to get any trade up here." Jael grunted as they all helped ease the wagon down the incline.

 "By the lake, mostly," Alistair piped up from behind them. He, of course, was exempt from the toil. Alim’s orders. "You've got to admit, it's a decent defense."

"Unlike the barricade," said Sten from his side of the wagon.

 At the top of the drop off sat a long building with a tavern sign hanging above the door. Bodahn pulled on the oxen's reins to stop them. "No need to chance the slope any farther, friends. There's space enough there to tie up the beasts."

 Jael almost didn't hear the merchant; his attention was drawn more by the loud voices coming from inside the tavern. "You might not want to tie them just yet," he said. "Let's see if we even want to stay first." He ignored the frustrated puff of air from Alistair and lead the way inside.

 The tavern was packed wall to wall and back out to the door, but none of the shemlen or elves present seemed to be enjoying themselves. A brown-haired man in fine clothes stood in the middle of it all, taking in the clamor, then finally raising his voice to be heard. "That's enough." He barely raised his voice, and yet, all others fell silent. "I don't want to hear any more talk of abandoning the village. The situation is grim, but can you imagine how much worse off we would be on the open road? Women, children, and craftsmen with not even a handful of knights to protect them? And that's to say nothing of abandoning the arl and his family."

 "With all respect, Bann Tegan,” someone called out, “we've no proof the arl is even alive. And Lady Isolde isn't one of our own."

 The Bann turned his gaze on the speaker. "But my nephew is, Murdock. And those of the household who haven't managed to escape, some of whom have family in this place. If we abandon the village, we have little hope and they have none at all." He looked over Murdock's shoulder to Jael and the rest. "I see we have visitors."

 It took everything Jael had not to reach for his blades as all eyes turned toward them. He'd imagined being the center of shemlen attention before, but it had always been with the expectation that it would be shortly before he died. He straightened up instead and met the eyes of the man who seemed to be in charge.

 "Welcome to Redcliffe," the Bann said. His tone was civil, but his gaze roved from Jael’s armor to Alim’s robes to Sten's towering form. "And what might your business be here? You're obviously not simple travelers."

 "You're right in that," Jael said. "My name is Jael Mahariel of Clan Sabrae. My companions and I seek an audience with the arl."

 "My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere. Arl Eamon is my brother."

 "I remember you, Bann Teagan." Jael could hear Alistair's smile in his voice. "Though... last time we met, I was younger. And covered in mud."

 "'Covered in mud'?" An answering smile formed on Teagan's weary face. "Alistair! It is you, isn't it? You're alive! That's wonderful news!"

 "Still alive," Alistair agreed. His tone had gone somber. "Though not for long if Teyrn Loghain has anything to say about it."

 Jael gritted his teeth. "Is there perhaps someplace private we might speak, Bann Teagan?" Before Alistair let everyone in the damned tavern know they were Wardens.

 Teagan waved over a large man from behind the counter. "Lloyd will give us a room, won't you Lloyd?"

 Lloyd looked very much as if he'd rather not, but he rounded the counter, key ring in hand, and led Teagan and the wardens to a short staircase at the back of the tavern. He slipped a key off the ring and handed it to the Bann. "First door on the right."

 The room was a close fit just for the three Grey Wardens and the Bann; Jael left the others making sure no one tried to eavesdrop. As soon Alim had closed the door, Tegan turned and grabbed Alistair by the forearm.

 "We'd heard you were dead, that all the Wardens were dead."

 "That's nearly true," Alistair said. "The three of us are all that remain of the Fereldan order. We're here seeking the aid of Arl Eamon."

 Teagan released Alistair with a sigh. "That may be a problem. My brother fell gravely ill some weeks ago, and now, it seems, has been isolated in his own castle.”

 Jael frowned. “What do you mean?”

 “All communication with the castle stopped a fortnight past. No one heard from the arl or any of his family for days. No guards patrolled the walls and no one came if I shouted at the gates. Nothing. And then... the attacks started."

 Jael frowned. "Attacks? Do you mean the arl's illness worsened?"

 Teagan shook his head. "I speak very plainly, Jael Mahariel. A few nights ago, the vilest creatures began emerging from the castle. The restless dead, demons, and fouler beasts I cannot even put name to. We drove them back, but many good people perished during the assault, knight and villager alike."

 "Demons?" asked Alim. "Have you sent word to the Circle?"

 To what purpose? By the time a runner reached Kinloch Hold we would be overrun. If I send a boat, I send a crew and I can't spare that many able men. Not if we're to survive another night. We have been reduced to empty hope for some outside intervention." Teagan waved at the wardens. "Perhaps it was not so empty after all?"

 Jael regarded Teagan warily. He still wasn't convinced this wasn't a trap, some ploy to keep them in place until Loghain could be summoned.

 "You don't believe your own Teyrn, then?"

 "What, that Logain pulled his men back to save them? That my nephew risked everything in the name of glory? Hardly." Teagan's expression had gone hard. "Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don't believe it. His desire for power is obvious and this story he's concocted the act of a desperate man."

 Jael nodded once. "Very well, then. What defenses does this village have?"

 Teagan sighed. "You've just come through them, I'm afraid. Barricades, a few knights. It's mostly townsfolk with hunting bows and pitchforks."

 "But Arl Eamon has more than just a few knights," Alistair protested. The brief lifting of spirits that had come from his reunion with Teagan had passed. Now Alistair’s brow was drawn in worry and his shoulders were tense.

 "Yes, but most of them have been sent off on a quest to find a cure for the Arl's illness. I swear, if I had known... " Teagan shook his head. "It makes no matter now. The situation is so dire that even some of those who have the skills and means to fight beside us are choosing to bar their doors and hope the dead won't come for them."

 "Even if the dead respect locked doors, it won't stop starvation or the disease that will come when the corpses start stacking up." Jael took no heed of the surprised look Alistair threw his way. It seemed Alistair was surprised whenever Jael knew anything. "Have you told them they'll just end up dying slowly instead of quickly?"

 "At length," Teagan said. His voice was level, but his mien was weary. "They prefer to take their chances. And the one smith left to us has drowned himself twice over -- once in grief, then again in drink. His daughter's a serving girl in the castle, and hasn't been seen since the attacks began."

 Jael felt his lip curl, but made no move to hide his contempt. "And he's made his grief more important than all the lives in your village."  No wonder this Bann Teagan was worn. He was Warmaster of a band that seemed determined to kill itself through sheer selfishness and incompetence. "What is the most defensible area of the village? Have locked doors been deterring the dead?"

 "To some degree. The Chantry's doors have certainly held since this began, although I'm not sure how much longer that will last. You'll excuse me for admitting that you and your companions might be the first bit of hope I've allowed myself.

 "As for defense, with our numbers, we'd likely be best off in the village square. We'd have the Chantry's doors at our backs if we needed to retreat, and the lake to one side. The slope would leave them only one path to come at us."

 Jael nodded. "We don't have long until nightfall. Gather what men will come with you and prepare for battle in the square. I'll confer with my companions, and we'll see what we can do about the shirkers in your midst."

 "If it pleases you," Alim quickly added.

 "No need for that," Teagan smiled. "I'm not a man of battle and I've no issue with stepping aside when I'm in over my head. I'll do as you asked and leave you to to the rest."

 Jael stifled the urge to sigh. At least the shem wouldn't be in their way, even if he wasn't much use in a fight. The Bann headed back out into the main room to lead the villagers down to the square. Once the room was more or less cleared, Jael lead Alim and Alistair back out to explain the situation the others.

 "If we require this arl's help, then we must break the siege as quickly as possible," Sten said, once Jael had finished. "We should go to the source, not squander our resources warding off attacks that may have no limit."

 "I don't think we have time," Jael countered. "And I'd rather try making my stand here where there are other fighters and we have some control over our surroundings."

 Sten folded his arms over his chest. "You will have no more fighters here than you will at the castle gates. Only farmers and tradesmen playing at something they'll never manage."

 "All the same, I like our odds better here than if we were to meet a horde of undead on the road at night," Alistair pressed.

 "I don't know about odds," said Alim, "but I assumed that when we agreed to help Teagan defend the village, we'd be staying in the village. I prefer making a stand here."

 Morrigan let out a derisive laugh. "And so we stay and hobble ourselves? Forgive me if I see more merit in Sten's plan."

 "Except he is not a warden." Zevran shrugged. "Three wardens for staying in the village, none opposed. It seems the matter is settled."

 "Jael." Leliana lay her hand on his elbow before anyone could respond to that, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "That elf in the corner. He is watching us."

 Jael risked a glance. There was indeed an elf tucked away in the farthest corner of the room, but why that should stand out was lost on him. "So? We're not from his village; he's probably curious."

 "I don't think he’s from this village either," Leliana said. "He's armored, but he isn't wearing the arl's colors. He didn't get so much as a nod from anyone else in the room while you were talking with the Bann. All he did was watch the others, never speaking to them, even when they were discussing how to survive the night. And now he lingers behind. I think he is up to something."

 Jael gave the elf another dubious glance. He wasn't sure he'd put himself in the middle of a bunch of quarreling shems either, given a choice. Looking out for his own neck would have been his preference. Still. Leliana had to have more insight into normal behavior in shem settlements than he did.

 "All right. I'll talk to him." The worst that could happen was that this elf got annoyed with him. After a moment's thought, he gestured for Zevran to come as well. He’d have far preferred to have Alim at his side, but he didn't know how this elf would react to seeing a mage. After everything he'd heard about city elves being taught to fear their heritage, he worried Alim's robes might be enough to scare him out of his wits first thing.

 The elf looked up as they approached and went immediately tense. "I'm not looking for company," he muttered, and turned his attention back to his drink. He was sharp-featured and pale, with his dark hair pulled back into a tight wisp of a tail. His splint mail looked to be in good shape and, to Jael's eyes, fit him well. Probably not scavenged. And he was armed as well as armored; there was a bow across his back and a short sword strapped to his side. Yet he hadn't left with the rest of the Bann's men to defend the village, nor had he hidden himself anywhere particularly defensible. Leliana was right. There was something odd about this.

 Jael offered the stranger a smile. "I just thought it was a strange to see a fellow elf here."

 "You're the one who's out of place here, Dalish. I'm just minding my own business."

 "Yes, I noticed." Jael folded his arms over his chest. "You're very good at keeping your distance from the others, even when there are life and death matters at hand."

 "Look, I didn't come here to talk!" the other snapped.

 Zevran snorted, then mirrored Jael's posture. "You're simply here to act suspiciously, I take it?"

 "I-I..." He seemed to collect himself and sat bolt upright. "I am not acting suspiciously!"

 "Oh, now that was convincing." Zevran clucked his tongue. "Berwick, was it? Come now, you will have to do better than that."

 Jael cut his eyes at Zevran, wondering where the assassin had picked up that bit of information, but then quickly focused on Berwick again, who'd gone pale as milk.

 "How did you..? I didn't... I was told to..." He narrowed his eyes. "Just leave me alone!"

 "We're not going anywhere." Jael leaned in, looming over the slighter man, though the confrontation was causing his guts to tighten. He wanted to shake this idiot until his brains settled back into place. What did he think the next step would be if he persisted in obvious denials? Worse, Jael wasn't certain he could bring himself to beat the information out of another elf. Not even this weasel-faced city cur. And standing by to let Zevran or one of the shems do it was entirely out of the question. "Tell us what you're really doing here."

 "Just because you're Grey Wardens doesn't mean you can just go around threatening people!"

 Jael bared his teeth in the most unpleasant smile he could muster. "That's a telling accusation. Who said we were Grey Wardens?"

 "I overheard it...? I..." Berwick slumped in his seat, finally seeming to accept that he was caught. "All right. I'll tell you. Just don't hurt me. This is more than I bargained for. I was paid to watch the castle, that's all. I was to send word if anything changed. But then the monsters started coming out at night and I was trapped here with everyone else. I haven't made one report, I swear."

 "And just who were you reporting to?" Zevran asked. His tone was one of benign curiosity, but the cunning little blade he was using to clean his nails made up for the lack of edge in his voice.

 "I don't know. A tall man with dark hair. He described that human Warden in your party and said he might be coming here. He never gave me his name." Berwick swallowed hard. "He told me who he worked for, though! Howe. Arl Rendon Howe. He's an important man, Teyrn Loghain's right hand. So I didn't do anything wrong."

 Zevran twirled his knife, flashing light from the blade.

 "It's the truth! Look...!" Berwick fumbled with his belt pouch and brought out a tightly folded letter. "Look, here are my orders."

 Jael snatched the letter from Berwick's shaking hand; it was brief, but backed up the elf's story.

 "So you're spying on Arl Eamon for the traitor Loghain."

 "Traitor? He's the Teyrn! He all but speaks for the king!" Berwick’s gaze raced from Jael to Zevran and back. He'd likely just realized that he was sunk up to his ass in events larger than himself. Jael couldn't help but feel a twinge of empathy on that front. "I didn't... I just thought I was helping the crown and making a bit of coin on the side. You have to believe me!"

 The worst of it was that Jael did believe him. This poor elf was loyal to Cailan; he might not even know the shemlen king was dead yet. But, by his own words, he was also loyal to Loghain. As soon as he had the chance, he'd probably do whatever he could to get word of their presence back to the man who wanted them all dead. The smart thing to do would be to kill him. Alim might fuss, but the mention of Loghain's name would be enough to sway Alistair. And once the deed was done, it was done. And yet...

 Pitiful was he was, Berwick was another elf, misplaced loyalties and all. Murdering him on account of a shemlen scheme, discarding him like he was nothing... the notion made Jael want to wretch.

 Jael took a deep breath and stepped away from Berwick's table.

 "Bann Teagan is readying every able-bodied villager in the heart of the town," he said stiffly. "Go meet up with them and help defend Redcliffe tonight. If I don't see you there later, gods help you."

 "All right. I'll do it." There was naked relief on Berwick's face. "Thank you for your mercy. I won't forget it!"

 Jael watched as he sprinted for the door, too stunned to reply. This was mercy? The chance to be slaughtered by demons and haunted bones? Whatever Berwick had been expecting had he been found out... Jael felt sick again. Best to let the others know that the mess with Loghain was getting deeper and deeper, then get on with the night's work. They had more immediate worries than the Teyrn.

 Ultimately, Jael decided to split their group in three. Leliana and Zevran seemed to have the sharpest eyes of them all, so sent them off to scout as much of the village as they could before dark, inside and out. Any new advantage they could find might be useful. Alistair and Sten he left in the square with what few troops Teagan had been able to muster, helping to fortify their cramped battlefield. And Morrigan went with Jael, Alim, and Ma'assan.... mostly because she had no qualms about showing her scorn for the townsfolk and it seemed safest to keep her at their side. Besides, a proper dose of contempt might be enough to shame reluctant recruits into service.

 They made their way to the waterfront where an awkward jumble of shacks on stilts crowded against the shore. Tucked behind the rest was the home that they'd heard word of in the village, a touch neater and slightly better maintained than the rest and harbouring someone who had been avoiding the preparation for the coming battle by baring his door.

 Alim took the initiative, giving the door a rap with the head of his staff. There was no answer.

 "Go away!" said a gruff voice from the other side of the door. "I already told you lot that I'm not coming out."

 "Ser, we're not from the village. We just need to-"

 " _Go away!_ "

 Morrigan smiled and turned to Jael. "Perhaps we need an approach that's less polite and more forceful?"

 Jael stifled a sigh that had nothing to do with Morrigan's suggestion. As much as he wanted to agree, he was still wary of just how much protection his status as a Warden actually offered... if any. But for now they seemed to have the bann's forbearance, and with two magic users and Ma'assan at his back, he doubted he was in any great danger.

 "Alim, step back."

 "Really?" asked Alim, even as he retreated. "If we're trying to convince him to help us, this can't be a good move."

 “Give me another option, then.”

 Alim shook his head. “I don’t have one, not in the time we have.”

 Jael didn’t bother tamping down on his annoyance; he channelled it into the kick instead. The door showed signs of having been recently repaired, but the wood was solid. It took two hard kicks before the lock gave way. Jael stepped back, just in case their contact was waiting on the other side and armed, but there was nothing for a moment… then an annoyed grunt.

 “Well, that’s fine, you’ve wrecked my door. I suppose you might as well come the rest of the way in.”

 Jael took a cautious step forward, letting his eyes adjust to the slightly dimmer interior of the house. The first thing to catch his attention was the solidly-built dwarf in the center of the main room. He was flanked on either side equally solid human guards, and the walls of the room were lined with weapons. The collection was mostly swords and maces from what he could see, and all well maintained. Jael frowned. These arms alone would have been a help to the village.

 “As my friend was saying,” Jael said, keeping his voice level. “We’re from the village. I’m Jael Marhariel, and these are my companions. Bann Teagan has tasked us with finding additional support for the village defences. You and your men look more than capable of lending aid, both in weapons and in strength of arm.”

 The dwarf laughed bitterly through his dark beard. “So what? I’ve no intention of risking my neck for this town. Better to stay in here than run around in the open, waiting for the undead to cut me open.”

 “This town is your town, isn’t it, ser?” ventured Alim. “And the people here-”

 “Name’s Dwynne. And the people here aren’t worth the risk. I go out there with that cobbled together band Murdock calls a militia and I won’t see morning. Now get out.” He crossed arms, seemingly resolute in his stance.

 “You’re thinking in the short term,” Jael argued. “Even if you do manage to hold out here, eventually, you’ll be the only ones left in a town full of rotting corpses and undead. Doors don’t stop plague. But if we hold the village long enough to figure out what’s at the source of all this misery, you’ll be heroes to these people.”

 “<i> _If </i>_ you hold the village. You making the same offer that’s been on the table the past few nights.”

 “No, we’re not. You’ll be fighting alongside Grey Wardens: the three of us here, and four more in the village.” Alim spoke with confidence, giving credibility to the lie. “Two of us are mages. Your chances of being a hero and being rewarded for that is a good deal better than it was yesterday.”

 “And,” Morrigan added, “this would not simply be higher standing in the minds of the merchants and rabble. As my friend said, we come assisting the Bann. You will be in a position to distinguish yourself to the family of the Arl. When this place rebuilds, your name will be among the favored.”

 It was Morrigan’s words with their rich promises that finally seemed to work some change in the dwarf’s stony expression. He took a long moment to look at the weapons hanging on the wall.

 “Fine. I’ll help. Me and my men. It’s been too long since I’ve been in an honest fight. But you all had better be there, right beside the rest of us.”

 “We will be,” Jael promised. “They’re gathering in the village square now and setting up barricades. Bring what weapons you think the villagers will be able to use.”

 He lead the others back out to the streets, blood boiling. If it took bribery just to convince these people to defend their homes, did they truly have any hope of collecting an army to fight a much larger enemy?

 He finally looked up at Morrigan.

 “That was a good idea.”

 She shrugged, but there was faint smile on her face. “Most desires are simple enough to decipher. And perhaps I did not lie… the Arl’s forces will be much depleted by these night raids. And if I _did_ lie, it is very likely we will be beyond the dwarf’s reach one way or another by the time that becomes obvious.”

 Alim cast a peevish glance at Morrigan. “Well, I certainly _did_  lie, so let’s get on with saving the village before he learns that, shall we? The Bann mentioned the smith - maybe we should visit him? See what he has to offer?” 

Jael laughed despite his grim mood. “I think you’re safe, Alim. Would you want to be the one to go up and ask Sten if he really is a Warden? But yes, let’s go find that smith.”

 It took little time to locate the smithy, which was fortunate enough; Jael saw at a glance that it would be time wasted. The door to the workshop stood open, sending fumes of drink and piss out onto the street. The smith himself was passed out in front of a dark, cold forge. There would be no help from a man who had numbed himself so thoroughly that lifting a hammer was beyond him.

 Jael closed the door behind them as they left. “If he’s still alive in the morning, perhaps we can try again,” he said quietly. “Let’s get back to the others and see how they’ve done.”

 Back in the town square, Alistair and Sten were demonstrating basic swordwork, with the town’s small militia doing their best to follow along. The comparison was unfortunate. Even with Alistair was slowed by injury and days of enforced rest and Sten holding back to account for that, there was still a marked difference in speed and skill between the two of them and the rest of the fighters. Whether their prowess would give courage to the townspeople watching or sap their confidence in their own people, Jael was uncertain, but he didn't waste time scanning the faces of the crowd for clues as he approached. Alistair had already noticed him and was waving off Sten for a break.

 “Just in time,” panted Alistair. “I think I might have had enough of this for a bit.”

 “Enough until tonight, maybe. You're not going to get back into shape in one day, so you might as well save yourself for the fight,” said Alim.

 “We don’t need you tired out because you were swinging at Sten,” Jael agreed. “Where did Leliana and Zevran get off to?”

 “They went with some of the farmers to collect oil casks they found.” Sten had been armed with a pike from Dwynne’s collection, the only weapon on-hand that didn’t seem ridiculously small in his powerful grasp. He swung it from guard to resting position with easy familiarity.  “There was a thought to erecting flaming barricades. I suspect it will finish the job of burning this place to the ground, but it may take the demons with it.”

 Alim winced. “I’d rather not leave another town burning in our wake if we can help

it.” 

“We _won't_ ,” said Alistair with a certainty in his voice that Jael had never before heard. “Not Redcliffe. Not if I have to nail every board of those bloody barricades myself.”

 “We’ll just have to make sure all the demons are dead before they get any further into town,” Jael agreed. After a moment’s thought, he added, “But get everyone who won’t be fighting to bring up as much water from the lake as they can before nightfall. Just in case.”

 Sten snorted, but said nothing more on the matter.

 With something akin to a plan, the rest of the day was spent in the labour of preparation: constructing barriers, filling the barrels, organizing the roughshod collection of militia and odd fighters that the village offered, ensuring as much as could be hoped for, and the security of those who would not be involved in the battle. It was tiring work, but kept the people distracted from the impending horror that threatened to drain their hope. With the steady confidence of Jael and the rest of their new defenders, renewed possibility of survival began to take root among the besieged villagers.

 

* * *

 

 

The small hope that Jael had fostered during the day, bolstered by the hard work of strengthening barricades and preparing arms and armour, had managed to harden into firm resolve by dusk. If a few of the defenders felt their knees weaken as the the sun slipped under the horizon, their confidence was renewed when the flood of light Morrigan cast over the village square chased away the long shadows of evening.

Alim stood beside her on the steps of the Chantry, well back from the front line that faced the road from the castle bridge. He could pick out Sten there, head and shoulders above the rest of the fighters, Alistair too, and Jael, Ma’assan at his side and swords drawn as he waited for the undead to arrive. This was the first time Alim had been so far away from the rest of the party during a battle. Alim tightened the grip on his staff, loosened it, turned it in his fingers as he fought the impulse to join them. There was a sigh from beside him.

“Is it worrying that makes you fidget so?” asked Morrigan.

“The waiting. I know this is going to end one way or another, but it’s the beginning I want right-”

Alim’s words were interrupted by a shout from the hill above them. A figure was running down towards them - the boy who’d been keeping watch by the windmill for any sign of the undead.

Morrigan smiled. “Your wish has been granted.”

Alim could see now that the lookout had hardly been needed. The undead were marching down from the castle with supernatural speed. A burning, ethereal light haloed the horde, making them seem aflame already. 

“Light the barricades!” Jael’s voice cracked as he gave the order, but Zevran didn’t hesitate to put torch to tinder. The flames roared to life as the undead closed with fighters.

 The blaze of burning oil slowed the creatures only a little, and most emerged whole. Alim kept his eyes on Jael; when Jael raised a hand in signal to the mages, he was ready with a barrage of chain lightning that leapt over the defenders and down onto the undead. More enemies fell. The demons behind began to trip over the fallen, but the loss seemed small compared to the numbers still pouring down the hill.  

 The fighters in the front line took advantage of their off-balance foes, striking out at them. The first fell back, but the horde behind them was climbing over the growing pile now and circling around the burning pyre. Jael stepped back so quickly that he almost stumbled, but to Alim’s relief, he managed to regain his balance.

 “Hold your ground!” Alistair called to the villagers, who were already starting to mill in confusion. “If we scatter, we’ll be picked off one at a time!”

 There was a surprising strength in Alistair's voice, and his resolve seemed to move through the crowd. People stilled, hefted their weapons, and renewed their focus on the undead swarming towards them. There had been a promise in his command that they were eager to grasp; stay together and live, and even Alim, as he lifted his staff to send another arc of lightning over the heads of those who fought with him, felt encouraged by it.

 But even the best general in the world wouldn’t have made seasoned warriors out of lifelong tanners and merchants. The rally held briefly, bringing their motley troops together against the enemy, but it gave them no more skill with a blade. As men faltered and fell, so did the courage of their fellows. Though their ranks did not collapse, they began to break up into small groups, with some being cut off or isolated… easy pickings for the tireless, fearless abominations.

 At that point, Alim realized he couldn’t see Jael standing with Alistair and Sten anymore.

 There was a twist of panic in his stomach, the first since the start of the battle, and Alim took several steps down the Chantry stairs before a shout from Morrigan stopped him.

 “Get back here!” 

Alim turned. “Jael's gone.”

 “Jael is <i> _not </i>_ gone.” Morrigan hissed. She snatched Alim by his sleeve to pull him back up the steps. “He may be _dead_ , but that is not a good reason for you to run off into the fray and get yourself killed as well. We will deal with the monsters and find Jael after.”

 He stumbled up to take his place beside her again, a little shaken by how quickly impulse had threatened to draw him away. He took one more quick glance across the square and there, off on his own, was Jael. Any relief he felt was short-lived as he realized Jael was being driven back by several undead and struggling to keep out of range of their blades.  

 Morrigan tensed at his side, and Alim knew without asking that she’d seen the same thing that he had.

 “I don’t have a clear line to him,” she snapped. “Have you?”

 Even as she asked the question, Jael’s guard faltered. The undead had driven him to the limits of the firelight.

 Alim didn’t have a clear line either, but he raised his staff all the same, desperately hoping that even if all he could manage was a distraction, it might be enough. But before the spell could be cast, an arrow streaked through the shadows, shattering the skull of the undead closest to Jael. Leliana loosed another arrow from her rooftop perch, distracting the remaining foes.

 It was enough to give Jael breathing room; in a moment, he’d torn the arm off one of the walking skeletons with the strength of a downward blow, and was fighting his way back toward the thick of the battle. Despite the village’s losses, the ranged fighters were picking off the abominations rapidly. Before the last of the barricades had crumbled into cinders, the battle was over and Redcliffe village still stood.

 here was an unsure silence in the wake of the victory. This hadn’t quite been the most harrowing battle Alim fought in -- the Tower of Ishal took that honour -- but here there seemed to be more at stake.

 Defeat had seemed so certain for many that they kept their weapons up and their gaze on the hill until someone put a gentle hand on their arm to reassure that yes, they were safe. Others looked to the crowd around them to hunt for familiar faces and loved ones. Alim spotted Alistair clapping the back of one of the militia, Sten standing nearby, Leliana, Zevran… Jael was out of sight again.

Any thought that he might look for Jael was dashed by a cry from below. There was a woman lying on the ground at the bottom of the chantry steps, a dark puddle of blood under her that looked black in the steady glow of Morrigan’s mage light.

 Alim knelt beside the woman, and when the blue light of his healing flared, those close by backed away. Nevermind that moments before he'd been throwing lightning across the sky to kill monsters; it was this gentle glow over one of their own that seemed to alarm them. Alim pushed aside the petty resentment that threatened and reaching for Circle-trained detachment, he put his head down and concentrated on the healing. The ragged edges of her wound fused together quickly leaving a scar that she certainly wouldn’t thank him for, but she was alive and would likely remain so.

 A hand settled on his shoulder. It was a Chantry sister, one arm laden with strips of fabric that must have been torn in anticipation of tending to the wounded, and even if it wasn't her intent, there was a measure of comfort in her touch that Alim was grateful for.

 Alim rose and the sister led him off to another victim, a man in much worse shape than the first,  He sent his requests across the veil, but they were denied and he shook his head; there was no helping this one. The sister lead him to the next one. On and on it went, with Alim healing or not as the case warranted. And that's how Alim thought of them, cases, just as he'd been instructed in the Circle. He cast his blue light and their humanity fled so that he could reduce them to their injuries and cure what he could.

 Finally, the injuries could be solved with simple stitches and clean wraps and at that point he begged off to go search for Jael. He hadn't seen him since that moment in battle and hoped to save whatever reserves of mana he had left in case Jael needed some healing. He headed into the Chantry. Somewhere close, but out of the way. If there had been a tree in here…

 Alim looked up, and there on the far end of the chantry, tucked into the ceiling over the left end of the transept was what looked like a space that might host a garret. It was the closest thing to privacy the building offered and seemed a very likely place for a crowd-shy Dalish to hole up. He picked his way around the villagers until he was at the back of the Chantry where he found confirmation of his suspicion in the form of a huge Mabari sleeping below the garret. There were iron rungs set into the stone above Ma’assan, so Alim tucked his staff behind the dog, stepped carefully over her, and climbed up. At the top there was a small door that Alim pulled open.

 Jael was inside, curled up under the roof in his shirt and trousers amidst a collection of blankets and sacks. Except one of the sacks moved. Alim sent up a dim mage light and as he crawled in he could see the shapes surrounding Jael were children, asleep and tucked against Jael. Why on earth Jael had dragged them up here, Alim couldn’t fathom.

 Jael’s eyes glowed briefly, reflecting the faint light of Alim’s magic. He looked like a wild thing, ready to spring out at Alim over the intrusion, but the illusion passed within a breath.

 “I thought it would be Leliana who came looking.” His voice was murmur, almost too low for Alim to make out. “Finished your work?”

 Alim nodded as he crawled into the narrow space. There was just enough room for him to stretch out his legs before closing the panel.

 “You saw? Enough that what's left can be dealt with by the sisters.” Alim raised an eyebrow at Jael's company. “No one in here needs any magical attention?”

 “Just the mundane. And I’ve done what I can there.”

 “Everyone certainly looks very content.” Alim could make out four small forms curled up between Jael and the wall. Thankfully, every one of them seemed to be asleep: he didn’t think he had the energy left to navigate the nonsensical questions of children.

 “It’s far better than what they had,” Jael sighed. “They came and found me after the fight. I guess word about the Dalish fighter traveled fast.”

 Alim couldn't help the smile that snuck across his face. “You've got a talent for collecting strays, dogs or children. I suppose we'll have to find their parents in the morning.”

 “Their parents all worked in the castle. Missing since the arl took ill, they said. And the family that took them all in died in the first raids.” Jael propped himself up on one elbow, prompting a stirring from the children snuggled up against his back. “So no. We won’t be doing that.”

 “Did you tell the Revered Mother?” asked Alim, alarmed.

 “They’ve been avoiding the Chantry. Apparently the oldest came here for help first and the Revered Mother said they’d find a way to get them to an alienage orphanage, with other elves. So they’ve been hiding out where they can.”

 Alim was shaking his head even before Jael was finished speaking. The alienage, with it's crowded streets and uncaring faces was bad enough, but Alim had faint memories of the rumours that used to swirl around the orphanage and they were dark enough that his stomach twisted at its mention. Even in the Circle those stories had persisted amongst the elves.

 “No, they'd be better off begging on the streets. s there no one here who can take care of them? No family at all?”

 “They’re too small to do heavy work. I guess that’s why none of the shemlen want them. Or maybe there’s no time to worry about anything but survival.”

 “Maybe. I'm not sure why I'm surprised.” There had certainly been enough lost children running around with Alim in Denerim, human and elf both, that he'd learned early they weren't afforded much value.

 “I didn’t mind looking after them,” said Jael. “It helped keep my mind off of… everything.”

 “The battle?” Alim ventured.

 “In a sense.” For a few long seconds, there was only the sound of mingled breathing in the storage space. “I never told you very much about Tamlen,” Jael finally said.

 Alim stayed silent for a moment, trying to read the shadows in Jael’s expression to see if he should press further. He had mentioned Tamlen before, but always haltingly as if the name was soft ground, ready to give and slip out from underneath him.

 “Your friend,” Alim said finally. “You don’t have to tell me, not if you don’t want to.”

 “There were undead in those caverns we were exploring. When those creatures closed with us tonight… for a moment, I wasn’t where I should have been. I was fighting side by side with Tamlen again, trying to protect him. And once the fighting was over…” Jael trailed off, as if he’d lost the sense of what he spoke of. “Once it was over, I remembered again. That he was gone.”

 “Is that how you were infected?” asked Alim, suddenly distracted by the thought of the scores of undead bodies lying outside the chantry.

 “No. Duncan and Marethari said it was old magic. It was trapped in a mirror… an eluvian, I think she called it. I don’t suppose that word means anything to you?”

 Alim shook his head. “Not at all.” 

“I didn’t think it would. But anyway, it was powerful ancient magic, and it was corrupted. Tamlen got too close and…” His were distant and distracted, lacking all of his usual intense focus. And then he trailed off again.

 “And didn’t make it back,” said Alim softly.

 Jael shook his head. “No. He died alone.”

 For a moment, the picture of a figure in the middle of a forest came to mind, lost and alone. But this person was dressed in the blue and purple robes of an apprentice and the familiar face belonged to a human... Alim dismissed the thought in an instant. Wherever Jowan was and whatever troubles he faced were of his own making, and Jael's friend didn't deserve the comparison.

 “I'm glad you're here, Jael, but I wish it didn't have to be at that cost.”

 “So do I.” Jael’s whisper threatened to splinter. “I know I can’t afford to dwell on it right now. I need to be _here_. But I can’t stop it from coming back into my mind either.”

 Alim reached a hand across to Jael. “Maybe when things are calmer, once we reach the castle, we can talk about him?”

 Jael hesitated a moment, then squeezed Alim’s hand. “Maybe… when I can afford to speak of him as he deserves.”

 “And in the meantime,” Alim chanced a small smile and nodded at the children. “You’ve started a collection.”

 “I can always add to it if you need a place to stay the night.” Jael hadn’t released his hand. “I’m afraid the cloak’s been claimed, though.”

 “No, I’m fine. You enjoy the pile of children, I don’t think I would.”

 “You don’t need to join in the cub-pile. Sleep between me and the door. It’ll be warmer than down below. More privacy as well.”

 And better company on a night when they both needed it. “I might as well.” Alim crawled over to settle in with his back to Jael. “I wasn’t looking forward to climbing back down anyway.”

 Jael draped his arm around Alim’s waist in a careless, warm hold. “I knew you had sense. Sleep well, Alim.”

 The weight of Jael’s arm was comforting as Alim closed his eyes. “To you as well,” he said before drifting into sleep.

 

 

 

 


	13. Betrayal at Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wardens and their company investigate Redcliffe castle and find that ending the nights of terror will require still more death.

Jael stood on the wide front steps of the Chantry with the rest of his companions. Bann Teagan had his back to them, speaking words of encouragement and inspiration to the assembled townsfolk. Jael caught the occasional word, but he couldn’t seem to focus on the moment. There was no escaping the carnage of the night before, despite their victory. One of first sights to greet him come morning had been Berwick’s pale, mutilated face among the dead laid out for the Chantry sisters. The acrid smell of burnt flesh still lingered in the air, despite the sunny cheer of the morning. His mind kept flickering back to the fight from the night before. And back to the caverns with Tamlen. 

Not good.

His drifting attention lighted on Alim beside him.

Alim gave him a small smile. “I understand the fuss,” he whispered. “But I wish they’d show their appreciation with a feast rather than speeches.”

Ridiculous mage, Jael thought fondly. But it was hard not to agree with him. Had time not been a consideration, the village might even have been able to produce a feast. At least with the population much reduced, food stores weren’t something the village was particularly lacking in, even with the waste of crops still unharvested in the fields. More importantly, Alim’s attention to the practical helped to ground him in the moment. Jael was grateful for that.

Jael faced front again, this time focusing on the quartet of thin young faces at the front of the crowd. He should think about them too. About what they needed, until someone came to care for them.

He snapped back to attention as Teagan turned to address them directly.

“I thank you all. Truly, the Maker smiled on us when he sent you here in our darkest hour.”

It was Alistair who answered. 

“Redcliffe was my first home, Bann Teagan,” he said. “And the Arl the closest I ever had to a father. I could never stand by and let them come to harm.”

“Your loyalty does you credit,” Teagan said, smiling. “And Redcliffe stands ready to receive you, if you would make her your home again.”

“I… “ Alistair blinked. “Well, it’s… not something I could do. I have other oaths now. And the Arl would have to approve anyway, so…” His smile was far more awkward than Teagan’s. “No, sorry. It can’t really be done.”

Teagan salvaged what he could of the awkward moment. “Of course. Forgive my impetuousness.” He turned back to the crowd. “Let us take what time we have now to celebrate, and give thanks to the Maker for this new day.”

Jael had taken just about all he could stomach. He beckoned silently to the children, then slipped away as the Revered Mother began leading a prayer, the four young elves in tow.

* * *

The shore of Lake Calenhad was all sand and pebbles, but that was all to the good so far as Jael was concerned. A shoreline that was mostly mud would have defeated his purpose. The elven children weren’t just thin, it was obvious they hadn’t bathed in ages. Given time, that would just court sickness.

He helped the children down to the shore, stripped, and demonstrated to them how to use a little sand and water to help take off the worst of the grime. After some initial wariness (and reassurances that if there was anything in the lake that wanted to eat elves, he would kill it), the young ones followed his example. The water in the shallows was not so chill, and the morning was bright; between the two, the children couldn’t help but be children, and the four were soon splashing each other and doing more playing than washing.

Jael settled on the shore to soak the warmth of the sun into his aching muscles and keep watch on the children, his own thoughts weighed down with care. The state of the young elves and the disregard the village had for their welfare was one more unhappy revelation about life for elves among the shemlen. Jael knew everyone went hungry in lean times, but he’d never seen children just left to make their own way like this, to starve or not as chance dictated. After everything else he’d seen, the elves he’d gotten killed, it was too much. He would find a way to help them.

The oldest of the group, Jos, came to sit by Jael. He was fair-haired and tall for his ten years. Jael had learned the night before that Jos was older brother to the youngest, a girl of barely four. The middle two were a friend of his and her cousin, and he’d been looking out for them all ever since their parents had all vanished. Already, any hint of smile and joy was gone from the boy’s face, and he was regarding Jael with solemnity out of place with his youth.

“Ser Dalish?”

“Just Jael,” Jael said. “Trust me, I’m not a ‘ser’ to anyone here.” 

“Jael.” Jos nodded and was quiet a moment. “What’s going to happen to us when you go off to the castle?”

“I’m hoping what will happen is that I’ll find your parents, and let them know you’re all well.”

But the boy was apparently in no mood to be comforted. “And if they’re not there? Or dead? What’ll happen to us? Will it be the Alienage, like the Revered Mother wants?”

Jaell frowned, but he knew the question had to be asked. “If they’re dead, then I’ll ask the Bann to look out for you. I’ve pledged to help stop the Blight. Do you know what that means?”

“It means you’ll leave once you’re done here.” Jos scuffed the sand with his toes. “Because you’re a Warden.”

“I’m more Dalish than Warden. And I’ll be leaving because fighting the Blight is the only way to keep my family safe. Like you’re keeping yours safe. But I mean to come back.” Jael answered Jos’ hopeful look with a smile. “And if I don’t find your parents, I’ll ask the Bann to give you work in the castle until I return. And then I’ll take you and your sister to live with my Clan. All of you, if you want.”

“What’s it like to live with the Dalish?” The boy’s question was slow, thoughtful.

“It’s not an easy life,” Jael admitted. “And it will probably seem like very hard work until you get used to it. You’d have to learn to hunt and how to do camp chores and how to walk long distances beside an aravel. And you’d need to learn the songs and histories.”

Jos considered. “Well. It would be better than being an orphan in an Alienage, wouldn’t it?”

“Absolutely. And you’d always have family to look out for you.”

“All right.” Jos buried his toes in his patch of sand. “But I hope you find our folks instead.”

“So do I.”

The two sunned themselves and watched the younger ones at play until motion further up the shore drew Jael’s attention. He slid one hand stealthily toward his blades so as not to disturb the children, then relaxed; the twilight blue of Alim’s robes was unmistakable. He lifted one hand in a wave and settled back into a half-recline on the shore.

Alim waved back as he approached. He wasn't alone. Zevran and Morrigan followed, the latter with a disdainful glance at the children playing in the water.

“You don't intend to turn us all into nursemaids, do you?” she asked.

“For that to happen, I’d have to trust this group to watch out for children.” Jael sat up. “What are you all looking for?”

“You,” said Alim.“The speeches are over, and we need to get into the castle.”

“Not that what you are doing isn't important.” Zevran's tone was unexpectedly earnest, as was the light smile he wore as he watched the children. 

“We also wanted to be sure you were fully ready for battle.” Morrigan glanced from the children, then back to Jael, taking in his state of undress. “I see you’re not wounded, at least. Have you any injuries you’ve kept silent about?”

“And that the only healer couldn't manage to find out about last night?” Alim huffed. “He's fine, Morrigan, I told you that already.”

“Your powers of observation are not particularly impressive,” Morrigan returned. “Asking him once the excitement of the night was past seems for the best.”

“I’m fine, Morrigan. Just sore.” Jael gave all three of them a sideways look and rose to his feet. He called the children out of the lake and showed them how to push the water off their skin, since they lacked any cloth to dry off with and had no more time to sun themselves. “I assume Bann Teagan wants to speak with us?”

“With the _Wardens_ , yes,” said Alim. “About the castle and finding out what's going on in there. We've had our rest, or as much as we're going to get right now.” 

“All right. I’ll get the children settled, then come join you.” 

Instead of taking them back to the Chantry, Jael set the children up in one of the abandoned homes. He helped Jos scavenge the cupboards for food and left instructions for them to rest for the day, and head for Chantry if he wasn’t back by twilight.

Jael met up with the rest of the party back at the Chantry. Teagan was waiting with them, looking far more grim than he had when facing the crowd earlier.

“Bann Teagan,” Jael greeted him. “Alim tells me you’re ready to infiltrate the castle.”

Teagan nodded. “Indeed. Though I'm afraid I've little knowledge of what we will face. That there are more undead seems a certainty, but beyond that, I can't say. I hope for the best but... I expect something terrible.”

“Are we considering a frontal attack?” Jael was not keen on that idea. A handful of fighters and a shem noble did not constitute an army, and they had faced dozens of the creatures the night before. 

“Maker, no. We're not so desperate as that. There's another way into the castle, through a tunnel under the lake. It's meant for escape, but it'll offer us a way in without being noticed.”

Alim glanced at Jael. “That sounds a little more promising.”

“It does,” Jael agreed. “But still… will this be an attack or are we scouting? I don’t like the idea of our chances against a whole castle of demons.”

“Our primary goal should be to save the Arl and his family,” Alistair said firmly. 

“Our primary goal is to ensure the safety of the people of Redcliffe,” said the Bann slowly. Despite the victory of the night before, fatigue still seemed to have a firm grip on him. “I want to believe they are alive, but Jael is right. We don't even know what it is that's creating these monsters and driving them out into the village. First we find that out. Then, if we're capable of dealing with it on our own, we put a stop to it. But I won't go after Eamon, or even Conner, if it means we doom ourselves and leave the village unprotected.” He looked at Jael. “We scout.”

Teagan’s idea was relatively uncomplicated: they would enter through the tunnel, emerge in the castle dungeons, and proceed carefully, seeking information floor by floor, until they encountered resistance too great to quickly dispatch. Once that happened, they would forego engagement and retreat with their newfound knowledge to plan further.

“The entrance to the tunnel is in the windmill up on the hill,” Teagan gave a nod to the east. “We'll meet there soon, but I noticed that some in your party could be better equipped for battle. You'd do well to search Dwynne's house. I've heard he was a collector of weapons and he's got no family here to claim what he owned.”

“I think your people would find more of use there than we would,” Jael said. “But Sten did wind up breaking his spear…”

“Pike,” Alistair corrected.

“Sten broke his pike off in one of those undead. He’ll definitely need a chance to equip fresh if he’s going to come with us.”

“Then we should collect him and get going,” said Alim. “Most of the morning is gone already, and I'm sure I don’t want to be in the castle much past dark if we can help it.”

* * *

In the end, Jael wound up taking Sten, Ma’assan, and Zevran with him to look over Dwynne’s home. He still didn’t trust Zevran, really, but the assassin had sharp eyes, and likely knew more about what would stand out as a potential hiding place in shemlen-style home than Jael did. Most importantly, he’d be less likely to object to taking anything found in said hiding places than the rest of the party.

Dwynne’s home stood out among the other dwellings - most of the homes and shops were wood, or even straw and daub for the humblest of homes. Dwynne’s was of stone, sturdy, and with only one small window to each wall. It was little wonder he’d thought he had a chance of waiting out the attacks. Jael pushed open the ruined door and began lighting the lamps, though that did little to illuminate the interior of the home. Perhaps dwarves had better night vision than shemlen did, though.

By the time he’d finished that task, Sten was already absorbed in examining the weapons lining the walls. He was as impassive as ever, but Jael felt he was starting to learn the Qunari’s moods a little. And in this case, the mood was “profoundly unimpressed”.

“Nothing suitable, Sten?”

“There is nothing here that would be as anything more than a knife in my hands, even if the quality were anywhere near acceptable.”

Jael frowned in turn, then glanced to a row a spears leaning against the opposite wall. “You have options. Or do you prefer to fight with a sword?”

“I prefer to fight with _a_ sword.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It is not a topic I am going to discuss with you.”

“I think you could trust me at least to the extent of discussing weapons training,” Jael huffed, exasperated. “I did save you from the gibbet, after all.”

“I was saved for reasons of utility, not sentiment,” Sten reminded him. “That is as it should be. In turn, you have my service in the aid of ending your Blight. But that does not make you privy to private matters, Warden.”

Jael sighed and gave up on the idea. He found Zevran studying a heavy chest in Dwynne’s bedroom. Or rather, glaring at the chest’s impressively large lock, which seemed to be trying to eat his picks.

“Need help, Arainai?” 

Zevran’s head snapped up. He cleared his throat. “Not precisely. The lock is just very stubborn, that is all.”

“Is it trapped?” Jael drew his half-sword and crouched next to Zevran, studying the chest and lock. 

“No, no. Just…”

“Stubborn. I heard you the first time.” Jael slid his blade between the clasp’s plate and the chest, then twisted experimentally. The lock hinges shifted encouragingly. Jael withdrew his blade, then fetched another from Dwynne’s collection, using that one instead to twist and distort the clasp; far better to risk damaging a dead dwarf’s blades than his own.

The lock’s clasp popped open in several pieces. Zevran sighed. “So inelegant.”

“It gets results.” Jael opened the chest, revealing an enormous blade bundled in linen. The sword wasn’t ornamented, but it seemed solid. “Aha! The gods are being kind today. Sten! Come try this sword for size.”

Sten strode dutifully into the room, but his eyes widened as soon as he set eyes on sword. He nearly trod upon Zevran in his haste to reach it, and lifted it from the chest with clear reverence.

“Strange,” he murmured. “I had thought I would never feel completion again in this life.”

Jael and Zevran exchanged glances.

“It is to your liking, then?” Zevran ventured.

Sten smiled at them both, an expression of genuine happiness that nearly put Jael back on his heels.

“Are you sure you are a Grey Warden?” he asked Jael. “I think you must be an _ashkaari_ to find a single lost blade in a country at war.”

“Wait… that’s _your_ sword?” Jael asked, hardly able to believe the coincidence. “How did you lose it? And what do you mean by it completing you?”

“Those are questions best answered when we have time to indulge in idle talk, Warden. We have what we came here to find, and I shall be at my best in battle. Come. Let’s be off.”

Sten’s smile held a definite smugness as he turned and headed for the front door, leaving Jael in a fresh frustration of curiosity.

* * *

It was nearly noon when the party set out, following Teagan toward the village mill where the tunnel’s exit -- or, for their purposes, entrance -- was secreted. The hill was in no way high enough for the distance to lessen the damage to the village, but across the lake, Redcliffe castle looked serene and strong in the daylight. Not at all the seat of monsters.

Teagan seemed to share Alim’s thoughts as he looked out on the castle. “It looks so quiet from here,” he murmured. “You’d think there was no one left inside at all. I suppose I shouldn’t speak like this but…” The sound of boots on the castle road caused them all to turn. 

Two people ran towards them. An armoured guard and a pale woman, disheveled but dressed in expensive clothes that marked her out as someone more than a villager, traced the path the undead had traveled the night before. But they were blessedly, remarkably, among the living.

“Maker’s breath!” Teagan whispered. “Isolde? Isolde, you’re alive! How? What happened? Where are Eamon and Connor?”

“I do not have much time to explain.” This was _Lady_ Isolde then, wife to the Arl. She was Orlesian, her accent more pronounced than Leliana’s, but beyond that, Alim knew little. She took a breath to gather herself into a slim facade of poise, but it wasn’t enough to disguise just how tenuous a hold she was managing to keep on her composure. “I slipped away from the castle as soon as I could, and I must return quickly.” She looked down. Her voice caught as she spoke next. “And I need you to return with me, Teagan. Please.”

Jael frowned. “That’s all the explanation you have, after everything that’s happened here?”

Isolde turned sharply; Alim doubted she was used to being questioned.

“And who is this savage, to demand explanation of me?” she snapped, her voice rising.

“We’re Grey Wardens, Lady Isolde,” Alim said quickly, with a glance at Jael that begged him not to take offence at her words. “We fought with your people last night against the undead.”

Alistair stepped forward. “We weren’t sure anyone had survived. I… I’m glad to see you alive.”

Isolde frowned, seemingly no more pleased with Alistair’s presence than she’d been with Jael’s demands. “Alistair. Why are _you_ here?”

“They are Grey Wardens, Isolde,” Teagan interjected. “I owe them my life, as does every soul in the village.”

“Please, Lady Isolde,” said Alistair, his tone more deferential than Alim had heard before, even with Duncan. “We had no idea anyone in the castle was even still alive after all we’d heard here. We need answers. Is the Arl alive?”

Isolde looked away from them all. “I… I know you must all need more of an explanation, but I truly have no idea what is safe to tell.” She finally lifted her gaze to Teagan, pale eyes beseeching. “There is a terrible evil in the castle. The dead waken and hunt the living. The mage responsible was caught, and yet it continues.”

“A mage,” said Alim, more to Jael than Isolde. “This _would_ be the work of magic… if we can question them when we get in, maybe we can find a way to stop this.”

“No, you must not enter the castle!” Isolde shook her head vehemently. “I… I think Connor is going mad. He has seen so much death! We have survived, but he will not flee the castle. The sight of all of you may do him even more harm. You must help him, Teagan! You are his uncle. You could reason with him. I do not know what else to do.”

Thankfully, Jael remained skeptical. There were evasions in Isolde’s words and Alim knew he’d be less inclined to forgive them than himself. “He would trust the word of his uncle over that of his own mother? And Alistair is right, we need to know whether your Arl is alive or not.”

Isolde looked as if the slightest touch would shatter her. “He is being kept alive, so far,” she managed. “Thank the Maker.”

“He is being _kept_ alive,” repeated Morrigan in a whisper, confirming Alim’s feelings of unease. “A curious turn of phrase.”

Alim nodded. “This isn’t going to be solved by Bann Teagan, Lady Isolde. We need to get in there.”

“No, for Connor’s sake, please…” She turned to Teagan again. “The mage unleashed some… some _thing_. So far, it allows me and Connor and Eamon to live, but… it’s killed so many, Teagan. It… it turned their bodies into walking nightmares! And when it was done with the castle, it struck the village. It wants us to live, but I do not know why. It allowed me to come for you, Teagan, because I begged, because I said Connor would be lost without help.” The last shreds of the noblewoman’s composure gave way. She clutched Teagan’s arms, her voice rising as tears slid down her cheeks. “I can’t let it hurt my Connor! You must come with me, Teagan, please! _Please!_ ”

Alistair took half a step toward Isolde, then stopped, arms falling awkwardly to his side. Others were less moved. 

“Her story is inconsistent,” said Sten, folding his arms over his chest. “Even if what she says is true and this creature will harm the child, it is a sacrifice that may be necessary to put down this demon.” 

That wasn’t a solution Alim would stand for, but before he could speak up, Isolde cried out. “No! No, you can’t!” Isolde’s nails dug into Teagan’s shirt. “Teagan, I know you could order your men to follow when I return to the castle, but I beg you not to! For Connor’s sake, please!” 

“I’ll go with you,” Teagan said firmly. He pulled Isolde closer and met Sten’s glare, unintimidated by the Qunari. “And you will not be sacrificing my nephew. I may be walking into a trap, I may be not be able to help Conner or Eamon, but this is my family, and I must try for their sake.”

Alim shook his head. Killing the boy was out of the question, but the Bann was setting himself up on a fool’s errand. “If this _is_ a demon-”

“Then you will have to deal with it. I’m under no illusion that I can deal with this evil alone, but if I can help turn events in some small way, I think it more likely that it will happen by going with Isolde, rather than following you.” Teagan turned to Isolde and took her hand in his. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Isolde, we must confer in private before I return with you.”

Isolde nodded tearfully, but was already pulling herself back together. “Please, do not wait long. I will wait for you by the bridge.”

Teagan watched her go, then stepped over to Jael and Alim, speaking in a hushed tone. “Here is what I propose: I will go in with Isolde and see what has become of my brother and nephew. Perhaps I can… distract whatever evil has taken hold there. The rest of you will enter by the secret passage and affect a rescue..” He dropped a heavy ring into Jael’s palm. “My signet ring unlocks the door at the heart of the mill. Will you do this?”

“It seems to be our best chance,” Jael agreed, though reluctance dragged at his words. “We can only hope that Isolde’s ‘thing’ hasn’t discovered this tunnel as well.”

“Hope is all we have, it seems.” Teagan cast a sad glance at the castle. “Remember, Eamon is your priority. Get him out if you can, just him if need be. The rest of us: Isolde, myself, and anyone else… we’re expendable.”

Alim couldn’t disagree more, after yesterday he had no intentions of watching anymore people die, but beside him Jael nodded his assent and the plan was set. He fell into step beside Jael as he pretended to lead them back towards the village.

“Just far enough to let Isolde think we’re leaving?”

Jael nodded. “Her tears seem real enough, but I agree with Sten… there are parts of her story that don’t hold up to questioning.”

“Most of it doesn’t make sense,” said Alim. “But I’m not sure if letting Teagan go does either. If we can’t save Eamon, we’ve just sent our next best chance at an ally into the furnace.”

“I don’t like it either,” Alistair admitted. “But I don’t think we could have stopped him.”

“And trying would have been suspicious,” Jael added. “We’re Grey Wardens, but he’s a local headman. So. We get out of sight, follow as soon as they’re in the castle, and hope Teagan can keep himself alive long enough for us to rescue him and anyone else who needs it.”

Alim forced a smile; a display of hope he didn’t feel. “He did well enough with the village until we got there. There’s that I suppose.”

Sten snorted. “Faint praise indeed.”

* * *

They waited nearly a half hour before heading back up to the mill and slipping inside. It only took a few minutes of searching before Alim found the door tucked into the floor and waved Jael over. Jael inspected it for a moment then, finding the odd lock that barred entrance, pressed the ring into what looked like the appropriate depression and gave it a twist. The lock sprang free, and Jael opened the door to a ladder that led down into a murky darkness. Alim didn't mind the dark, but not being able to see the bottom or what could be waiting for them was a little more troubling. He summoned a wisp and sent it floating down into the hole for light.

It was a long climb down stairs that were slippery from the humid air, and not for the first time Alim wondered at the way his robes managed to get in the way of practical movement. Once they reached the bottom, the tunnel was too narrow for any travel but single file. To his credit, Sten didn’t voice a sole complaint about having to press through the cramped walls of a space meant for people much smaller than him. 

When they came to the entry to the castle, the door was rusted shut; it took Alistair and Sten together to force it. The reward for entry was poor enough; their first breaths within Redcliffe castle were tinged with death and rot. Beside Alim, Jael swallowed hard.

The few sconces guttering on the walls gave enough light to see by, but cast unreliable and dangerous shadows on the floor and walls.Alim sent his wisp drifting into the room. In its unwavering glow, the room ahead steadied and the shadows settled into grey, foreboding archways and doors set with iron bars. This must be the dungeon. 

“Hello?” A ragged, tremulous voice carried through the filthy corridors. “Who’s there? I know someone’s there!”

Leliana quickened her step. “There’s someone alive in all of this?” she whispered. “Maker, we have to help them!”

“Of course,” said Alim, striding ahead and peering into the cells. It shouldn’t have been surprising - anyone locked up down here had some measure of protection against the undead. The life of the lowliest prisoner in this castle was more likely better secured than that of the Arl himself. 

He finally noticed a dirty and bloodied pair of hands wrapped around the iron rungs of a cell door. “They’re over here!” He shouted over his shoulder.

"By all that's holy..." The bloodied, disheveled man in the cell stood stock still, wide-eyed gaze roving Alim's face. "I can't believe it... Maker's breath, Alim! How did you get here? I never thought I'd see you again, of all people!"

“Jowan?” Alim whispered. He was unbelieving at first and looked for signs that this beaten man in dirty scholar's robes was someone else, but the last time Alim had seen Jowan he'd had the same sad appeal in his grey eyes, the same plaintive whine at the edge of his voice. Jowan had been about to slice open his hand to let loose blood magic that would stain the lives of those he left behind and his final words to an unknowing Alim had been a plea for forgiveness. Not likely. Not then when he'd abandoned Alim and Lily and after witnessing the devastation in Redcliffe, not now.

"Jowan. _You're_ the mage?"

"’The mage?’ That sounds ominous.” Jowan peered over Alim's shoulder, presumably at Leliana, Jael, and the rest. "I... can guess they're not from the Circle."

"No, they're with the Grey Wardens. With me. We’re here to see if we can help.” There was a flash of hope on Jowan’s face. Of course he’d think Alim meant him, even if there was a whole castle of death above him. “What did you do here, Jowan?”

"I was brought here to help the Arl's family." Jowan said softly, then his eyes widened as he realized the question had been an accusation. “Nothing! None of this was me! I was brought here to _help_! The Arl’s son, Connor, has magic. The Lady Isolde didn't want to see him go to the Circle. She went looking for apostates to train Connor in secret."

"Conner? A mage?" Alistair said. "I can't believe it!"

"And that seemed like a good idea?” pressed Alim, ignoring Alistair. “An unharrowed blood mage taking a child under his wing? Maker, Jowan, what were you thinking?"

Jowan bristled. "I'm not incompetent. I trained at the Circle longer than you did. I know how to teach the precepts of control and..." He slumped as he realized that path would gain him nothing with Alim. "And it wasn't as if I had anywhere else to go. And no one knew. Not even the Arl realized that Connor was a mage."

"None of that makes it better." Alim countered. He wanted to reach through the bars, grab Jowan by the collar, yank him back into the door, and make his head bounce back off the bars in the hope that the impact might knock some of the Jowan he’d used to know back into him. _If he’d had anywhere else to go._ As if his problem weren’t of his own making, and as if he hadn’t left the two people he professed to care about above all others in just that situation. 

"What happened here?” he asked instead. “Where did the undead come from?"

"I don't know!" Jowan's hand was filthy with grime and dried blood. It shook under Alim's. "You have to believe me. Lady Isolde had me dragged down here and demanded that I reverse what I'd done. I thought... I thought something had happened with Connor or the Arl. That's the first I heard about the walking corpses. She thought I'd summoned the demon to torment her family. She... she had me tortured, but I had nothing to tell her."

"Come closer," said Alim. The signs of abuse were all too obvious and, despite his anger, when Jowan leaned closer to the bars, Alim raised a hand to his cheek and bathed in in a soft glow that washed out the bruises and cuts on his face. Jowan could always muster his sympathy, it seemed. "But there is a demon in the castle? And if it wasn't you that invited it in, then it must have been Connor."

"He wouldn't have done it intentionally," Jowan protested. "He couldn't have. He's just a child; he can barely manage a simple spell. But..." Jowan stepped away, brow knit with new worry. "Connor," he said haltingly, "has little knowledge of magic. But he could have done something to tear open the Veil accidentally."

"Which could let in all manner of spirits and demons." Morrigan's scorn cut into the conversation like a gust of chill wind. "Yes, that would fit this scenario. Let in a demon powerful enough to kill, and it can attract other spirits. The walking corpses are the next step."

“And keeping Lady Isolde’s son from the Circle was the first." It was petty, but deserved. 

"I know," Jowan sighed. "Maker, I've made so many mistakes..."

“They aren't just mistakes, Jowan. You've hurt people,” said Alim, silently including himself himself in the count. “You're responsible a lot of death." 

"I know! I know I've made some bad decisions!" Jowan hid his head in his hands for a moment. "I'm just... so sick of running away from what I've done. I want to fix it!"

"This boy could be of use to us, Jael," Morrigan murmured, loud enough for Alim and Jowan to hear.

“And what would he do?” Alim scoffed. Was it too much to expect that this one time, when she knew so little of the situation, Morrigan would just shut up? He knocked his staff against the bars to get Jowan to look at him and found that what sympathy he’d managed to call upon was quickly evaporating. “Tell them how you’d fix it what happened here. Or in the village. What about the Circle? Tell me how you’d fix what happened to Lily.”

"Alim." Jael's hand settled on his shoulder. "We don't have time for this. We need to keep moving."

Alim shrugged off Jael's hand and kept his gaze fixed on Jowan. "Here's your chance. Are you coming with us to get rid of this demon?"

"Hey, no, wait!" Alistair protested. "This man is an apostate. Like you said, he's responsible for all these deaths. We can't just let him come with us!"

"I..." Jowan froze, eyes flicking from Alim to his companions to the empty corridors beyond. Alim watched in disgust as his expression wilted from penitent sorrow into fear. He already knew what Jowan’s answer would be. "I'm not sure that's a good idea to just follow you into danger. I'm not battle-tried... it was never my area of study. But I could examine the situation, try to figure out what's going on, maybe help get whoever's left up there out of the castle."

"And then vanish with them," Alistair said, unusually snide.

"Fine,” said Alim. “You can examine the situation from your cell.” 

Jowan drooped. “That’s it, then? You’ll leave me to rot here? Or wait for something worse than walking corpses to break in and finish me off?”

“There’s no safer place in the castle, Jowan,” Alim said quietly. He turned away, looking up the corridor to the staircase beyond. There was no point in pointing out the irony of Jowan’s words. They didn’t have time, and Jowan, flailing around in self-pity, was unlikely to grasp it. “We’ll be back when when this is finished.”

* * *

The castle halls were eerily quiet, even more so than the dungeon. There seemed to be no life at all, only the story of those who had fought and died… bloodstains on the floors and walls. Barricaded doors that had been staved in. Overturned furniture and torn tapestries. All of it had been put back in some mockery of order, but there had been no effort to repair the damage.

But for all the carnage, there were no bodies. Just the smell of death. 

“How do we do this?” Alim asked Jael. It came out in a whisper. 

“We drive into the heart of this evil and vanquish it,” Sten said, no trace of doubt in his voice. “There is no other option.”

“We don’t seem to be given much other choice,” Jael admitted. “We don’t know the lay of this place, and so far we’ve met no resistance.”

Alistair stepped forward impatiently and pointed down the hall. “That way. First we check the great hall and then the family quarters. They may have stuck me with the dogs eventually, but not before I’d run every inch of this castle.”

Morrigan sniffed. “Why do I suspect any time you spent in the _family_ quarters was strictly in secret?”

Alistair’s eyes flashed real anger for a moment; it was Ma’assan’s low growl that checked his reply.

“You two can fight later,” Jael snapped. “And Morrigan, you can leave now if you don’t have better sense of when to keep your tongue still.” He turned back toward Alistair. “All right. Take point if you know the way.”

Alistair nodded and took the lead, guiding them through the corridors with a caution Alim appreciated. His anger at Jowan was still scraping away at the back of his mind and distracting him from the sounds and shadows he needed to pay attention to. How he’d managed to shutter that away for all the previous weeks, he wasn’t sure, but it was a trick he wished he could manage now. 

Alistair stopped, and his free hand went up. In the silence that followed they could all hear what he'd noticed: aimless footfalls, the clink of armour that almost sounded empty, the dry rasps of soulless moans. Alim gathered his mana into a pattern, ready to strike, and felt Morrigan do the same. 

“No elements,” Jael breathed. “We’re packed in too close. We need to fall back or find an alternative.”

Alim nodded. “I have lots of alternatives. I could trap them, paralyse them like the bear back in the Wilds, and then it would just be a matter of cutting them down.”

Jael nodded. “All right. Be careful.”

Alim stepped up to Alistair and peeked around the corner. Three corpses shuffled around in the hallway ahead, the torch on one wall making their shadows shift and jump. They were close enough to each other that one glyph, cast wide, would capture them all. He drew out the mana, set it under the floor and drew it up again, this time with light and form. The first undead foot that broke a line triggered the trap so that all three were frozen in place. It wasn’t satisfying in the least. He wanted to tear them apart or reduce them to ashes. 

“Be quick!” Alim called instead and stepped aside to let the fighters pass.

He didn’t need to give the suggestion twice. Jael, Alistair, and Sten stepped in and began dismantling the helpless undead. Zevran and Leliana stood watch; even if they weren’t fighting back, the dismemberment was hardly silent and was likely to draw more attention. 

“That was a good deal easier than back at the village,” Alistair said. 

“We can handle that rest like that, as long as they’re close,” Alim pulled up the hem of his robes and stepped gingerly around the limbs and body parts that now littered the hall, more to avoid slipping on odd fluids then to fend off further stains. “It’ll make short work of them.”

With nearly every room they explored, they encountered tightly-grouped packs of undead; each time, the possessed creatures fell to magic and steel. And yet, there was no sign of the Arl or his family. Then the sound of childish mirth drew them toward the main hall, step by careful step.

The atmosphere of the hall stood apart from the rest of the castle, even before they’d set foot within. Warm firelight shadows danced merrily upon the walls, accompanied by clapping and laughter. Well, one person’s clapping and laughter, at any rate. Alim didn’t find it reassuring. 

Jael glanced at Alistair, puzzlement clear on his face, but Alistair seemed no less confused. They’d been expecting horrors. But Alim had also expected horrors in his first walk in the Fade, and instead he’d gotten riddles and deception. The error was always in assuming demons would meet your expectations. Play with them yes, but never meet them. 

Jael lowered his weapons and walked into the room. A full half of the main hall was taken up by a raised dais, apparently the place where the royal family would address their gathered guests. Now, it was practically empty, hosting only three guards, a miserable, red-eyed Isolde, and a pale boy who could not have seen more than eight summers. He was the source of the awful merriment, clapping in time as Bann Teagan capered and performed jester’s falls for his amusement. 

But the boy's hand went up when he saw Alim and the others. The delight fell from his face, replaced by a hard and unsettling satisfaction that stirred a dread in Alim even the undead hadn’t managed. Teagan's dance stopped and all eyes fell on the party.

“We have visitors!” The boy clapped his hands. “Are these the ones you told me about, Mother?”

Isolde nodded wearily. “Yes, Connor.”

Conner narrowed his eyes and pointed towards Jael and Alim. “And those two, Mother, what are they?”

“They're elves, Connor. You... You've seen elves before. We have them in the castle...”

“Oh! I remember!” Connor laughed, and the hollowness of it chilling. “I had their ears cut off and fed to the dogs! The dogs chewed for hours! Shall I send them to the kennel, Mother?”

Alim’s stomach turned. The images painted by Connor’s words were too vivid and too depraved for him to brush aside. This would be where the horrors started. 

“No,” Isolde whispered. “Please Connor, I beg you. There's no need to hurt anyone else.”

Connor stumbled a moment, pressing a thin hand to his brow. He looked to Isolde, suddenly nothing more than a confused, lost child.

“M-mother? What’s happening? Where am I?”

Isolde gasped softly, the sound more a sob than anything else.

“Oh, thank the Maker!” She reached out to embrace her son. “Connor! Connor, can you hear me?”

Connor’s expression twisted. In a moment, there was no sign of the boy and only a vicious contempt in his eyes. “Get away, you fool! You are beginning to bore me!”

Isolde staggered back as if struck, then slumped, letting her arms drop. She turned her gaze outward to Alim, Jael, and Alistair.

“What have you done with Bann Teagan?” Alistair asked sharply. The bann was squatting at Connor’s side, smiling in an unnaturally wide gape that left his lips split and bleeding.

“Here I am!” The bann cackled at his own drawling idiocy. His head bobbed aimlessly as a doll’s, as if attached to his body by only the loosest threads. “Here am I!”

Connor gave Alistair a contemptuous glance that mirrored exactly Isolde’s expression at the bridge. “I like him better this way.” The contempt bled into malevolent amusement in the next moment. “No more yelling! Now he amuses me!” He aimed a kick at Teagan’s ribs, and both man and boy laughed at the abuse.

“Please,” Isolde begged, her words broken and shaking. “Don’t hurt my son. He’s not responsible for what he does.”

Jael watched Connor through narrowed eyes. “So. Here is the source of all the trouble.”

“No!” Isolde shook her head. “It wasn't his fault! It was the mage – he did this. He summoned the demon! Connor was just trying to help his father.”

“And made a deal with a demon to do it?” Morrigan asked. “Foolish child.”

“It was a fair deal!” Connor’s voice was deeper now. Growling. _Echoing_ in ways that should not have been possible. “Father is alive, just as I wanted. And now, it is my turn to sit on the throne and send armies out to conquer the world! No one tells me what to do any more!”

“Nobody tells him what to do!” Teagan laughed and applauded. “No-o-o-o-obody!”

“Quiet, uncle! Did I not tell you what would happen if you kept shouting?” The boy turned his attention to the swords decorating the far wall, contemplating. 

“Connor. Connor, please…” Isolde whispered.

“Oh, very well. We shall keep things civil for now. These elves shall have the audience they seek.” Connor turned his gaze full on them. There was a red reflection in his eyes, too bright a scarlet for even torchlight. “What have you come here for?”

“To see Arl Eamon,” Alim said plainly. One thing he'd learned the last time he'd talked with demons was that there was little sense in trying to be clever. They were always _more_ clever, more subtle, more experienced with the loose threads of conversations that they could tug and unravel at their convenience. “We're here to help him if we can.”

“To help him? Or to help yourself?” The demon sneered.

“Both.” Truth had been Alim's best defense during his Harrowing. “And the people you've terrorized. And perhaps even you.”

Connor laughed. “I don't need any help! I can do everything by myself. Isn't that right, Mother?”

Alim caught Jael moving out of the corner of his eye. Subtly repositioning himself as Alim kept Connor occupied.

“Well, I was just having fun. So much fun.” Connor turned to Teagan. “You're having fun too, aren't you Uncle?”

Teagan offered an idiot’s grin. “Marmalade!”

“You see. There's nothing that needs helping here. We're simply having fun, and frankly,” Connor pointed a thin finger at Alim and the rest. “I don't think it's very fair of you to come in here, sneaking around, killing my playmates, and spoiling our fun. Aren't I right, Mother? I think it's threatening me.” His voice lowered with the last few words, and Alim tightened his grip on his staff. 

The demon was losing its patience. “Guards! Uncle! Make yourselves useful and…”

Snake-quick, Jael closed the last steps between himself and Connor, holding his short blade to the boy’s throat. 

“Don’t.” Jael’s voice was utterly calm. “Be still, or I will still you. Do you understand?”

Connor’s air of authority crumbled at once. He shrank in on himself, casting a frightened, confused gaze to Isolde.

“Mother…? What’s going on?”

Isolde pushed Jael's sword aside and dropped to her knees to pull Connor into an embrace. “Terrible things, but none are your fault.” He nodded into her shoulder, but he looked dazed, uncomprehending. 

Beside them, Bann Teagan slowly pushed himself up off the floor.

“My mind... my mind is my own again,” he said.

“It's the violence,” Isolde said with an accusatory look at Jael. “It must sound odd, but the thing, whatever it is, has no stomach for it.”

Alim shook his head. “No, that's not it. If Jael had killed Connor, he would have slain the demon as well. It retreated to save itself, but it will be back.”

Morrigan nodded a confirmation. “They are tenacious in that way. Moreso when they’ve been invited, as this one was.”

“‘Invited…?’” Isolde’s confusion gave way to fury. “The mage. He has done this! He only came here to ruin my family!”

“He tells a different story.” Jael finally sheathed his blade. “And now that things are safe for the moment, perhaps it’s time to bring him up here, Alim.”

Alistair frowned. “We don’t need that kind of help.”

“I’d rather leave him down there,” Alim said with contempt. “But he’s a blood mage and might know something we don't. Right now our best and only option is to take care of the boy-”

“No!” Isolde’s shout frightened Connor who burrowed deeper into her arms. “He's just a child. He's not responsible for this!”

“I agree. Those responsible are the people who kept him out of the Circle.” Alim gave Isolde a hard look. “And that's why we need Jowan, because I don't think any of us want to hurt your son.”

Isolde held Alim’s look with one of equal strength, but nodded. 

“Very well. Guards, go fetch the mage.” Isolde took a deep breath and stroked her son’s back. “Connor, my sweet boy. Why don’t you go to your room? Your father’s guests and I have something to discuss with your tutor. I promise, I will come fetch you soon.”

Connor lifted his head hesitantly. “Do you promise?”

“Nothing will keep me away from you.” Isolde watched as her son retreated, then turned back to her “guests”. “Do not judge me, mage, because I did not want my son taken away and my family shamed. You have no children, you cannot know how it feels.”

“That’s immaterial,” Jael said, sharper than Alim would have expected. “At this moment, you do not have a son, you have a demon in a child’s skin. And murdered villagers that need to be accounted for.”

“There will be time enough to place blame after we deal with the more immediate problem of Connor’s possession,” Teagan reminded them. “I would like to know all of our options.”

Alim was humbled to realize that he didn't know of any. When it came to demons, apprentices were generally kept in the dark, the assumption being that the less they knew, the less they might be tempted to reach curious fingers into forbidden magic. Not all were as willing as Alim to simply heed their mentors warnings and leave the dangerous texts unread. But now he wondered how wise he'd been. He had sat in Irving's chambers with texts that might have offered answers to this problem only an arm's reach away, and he had never even entertained the thought of opening them. He'd thought his ignorance was a testament to his loyalty to Irving. Now he wondered if he hadn't been a fool.

Alim looked up at Alistair. “What about you? Did the Templars have any other options in dealing with demons besides running a sword through the possessed?”

“Sorry, nothing that I know of. We have our steel, and that's it.”

“Unsurprising.” Morrigan and Jael speaking in unison might have been worth a laugh at any other time, but it seemed not even Zevran had the heart for wit now.

Finally, the guards returned, hauling a manacled Jowan with them. Jowan’s gaze flitted from face to face, but found only judgment instead of welcome. He licked his lips, but Isolde’s outrage found voice first.

“YOU!” She lunged forward, and only Teagan’s hands on her shoulders kept her from going for Jowan’s eyes.

“Isolde! Enough! We’ve all endured a trial, but this helps nothing!” Teagan held her tighter.

Isolde turned her rage on him. “You don’t know all that he’s done! He unleashed a demon on my family! He poisoned my Eamon!”

“He poisoned Eamon?” Alim turned to Jowan, unbelieving. Jowan had done great harm, but it was always in fumbling towards something better: an escape, a redemption. Poisoning the Arl required an intent Jowan didn’t, _couldn’t _, possess. But under Alim’s gaze, Jowan shrank and looked away. Isolde was telling the truth.__

__“Please Alim,” he pleaded quietly, “I... I know it was a terrible thing. And I know how it makes me seem, but I swear, that's all I did. I'm not behind anything else that's happening here-”_ _

__“Shut up!” barked Alim. “I understand. You're not behind anything, you're not responsible for anything.” He kept his free hand balled into a fist. The temptation to trace dangerous patterns of magic and toss Jowan against a wall was strong. “There's not a damn thing that's gone on since you became a blood mage that is your fault, not one. Not me, not Lily, not this. It’s always the same story. I want to know why you poisoned the Arl.”_ _

__“I-I was instructed to by Teyrn Loghain!” Jowan took a step back, but was brought up short by the guards’ grip on his arms. “I had no one to turn to after I left the Circle! But the Teyrn’s men found me and…” He swallowed. “He told me that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden. He was the Teyrn, and I thought he would know. And he told me if I performed this service for my country, he could settle things with the Circle by way of reward. I didn’t realize until later that I was wrong. All I wanted was to be able to return!”_ _

__“You're a fool.” It was all Alim had wanted as well, but he understood it would never happen. Jowan chased dreams summoned from the shifting mist of unreasonable hopes and nurtured by a refusal to accept how unforgivable his crime had been. And those who were hurt in the process?_ _

__“I was going to be killed for what I did for you, Jowan, and Lily was sent to the Aeonar. You thought you deserved to go back?”_ _

__“I didn’t know!” Jowan protested. “Alim, please… I never thought it would end like this.”_ _

__“You never _thought _,” spat Alim.___ _

____“Enough!” Jael stepped between them, eyes flashing. “You can tear chunks out of each other later. Your arguments aren’t the most important thing in front of us for now.” He turned to Jowan. “The Arl’s son is hosting a demon. Can you help, or do you go back to your cage?”_ _ _ _

____“I…” Jowan nodded weakly. “I can, maybe, yes. The demon will need to be destroyed, or it will just keep clawing its way back to Connor. Killing him would be the easiest way to destroy the demon. But… a mage could also confront the demon in the Fade.”_ _ _ _

____Jael frowned. “You mean, in a dream?”_ _ _ _

____“No.” Jowan shook his head. “The mage would enter the Fade while awake. The demon’s controlling Connor there. If someone were to take the fight to the demon, it would be possible to rout it without harming Connor at all.”_ _ _ _

____Isolde watched Jowan, her disgust slowly transforming to a wary sort of hope, but Alim wasn’t so easily lured. This wasn’t any knowledge he’d encountered before_ _ _ _

____Isolde asked, “So you could enter the Fade and kill this beast without harming my boy?”_ _ _ _

____“I couldn’t, no. I’d need to cast the spell. But I could enable another to enter the Fade.”_ _ _ _

____Alim shook his head. “I've never heard any of this.”_ _ _ _

____“You didn't read the right books,” said Jowan glumly. “It was in the texts on blood magic. And it requires blood magic to power the spell... unless you can ask the Circle for aid. There's a ritual, but we would need lyrium and more Circle mages than we have.”_ _ _ _

____“There's no such thing. I was the First Enchanter’s apprentice and I never heard of anything like that.”_ _ _ _

____“And you think he'd tell you? The apprentices wouldn't be half so afraid of blood magic and possession if they knew it didn't have to end with their head being cut off with a Templar's sword. It's in the books, Alim, you just had to read them.”_ _ _ _

____But Alim wasn't willing to concede anything to Jowan yet, and found himself turning to Morrigan for confirmation._ _ _ _

____She shrugged. “If it's simply a matter of powering the spell, lyrium would work as well as blood magic, would it not?”_ _ _ _

____Of course it would. For just a moment the question Jowan had raised, about why they weren't told, nagged him, but he pushed it aside and grabbed for the hope that Jowan had offered. No one had to die._ _ _ _

____“Then we go to the Circle.”_ _ _ _

____“How long would that take?” Jael asked. “To get from here to the Circle and back again?”_ _ _ _

____“More than a week overland,” Teagan said wearily. “Even going by water would be more than a full day in good conditions, assuming we could spare the men from defending the village to crew one of the boats.”_ _ _ _

_____Which we can’t,_ went unsaid. _ _ _ _

____Jael closed his eyes a moment, as if steeling himself. “Then it’s not an option.” His gaze, harder now with the loss of that brief hope, snapped back to Jowan. “What else could you do?”_ _ _ _

____Jowan took a deep breath. “The only other option is using life energy to power the spell. And this spell… it requires a lot of life energy. All of it, in fact.”_ _ _ _

____“Someone would have to die.” Jael’s voice was weary, and Alim imagined the idea was no more palatable to Jael than it was to himself. There’d been too much death to sanction another._ _ _ _

____“I - yes,” Jowan said finally. “Either someone would have to be sacrificed to the spell, or Connor would have to be … done away with.”_ _ _ _

____“Then we go to the Circle,” said Alim firmly. The conversation had already slid too easily into things Alim was not willing to consider. “You're talking about blood magic, never mind outright murder. Don't pretend there's no risk to that.”_ _ _ _

____“And the people in the village?” Jael asked. “We just go off the Circle and whoever’s alive when we get back, well, that’s just their good luck?”_ _ _ _

____It wasn’t at all the response Alim expected, and he couldn't’ keep the surprise out of his voice. “I’m thinking of those people, Jael.There’s already one demon on the loose. If this goes badly, we might simply end up making it worse.” He gave Jowan a hard look. “And considering who would be doing the magic, I don’t think that’s unlikely at all.”_ _ _ _

____“It might get worse. But if we take the time to travel, then there’ll certainly be more graves to dig when we get back.” Jael ran his fingers back through his hair. “But there’s no other path but the Circle, is there? Otherwise we’re back to killing a child.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m sorry,” Jowan muttered. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not much of an option.”_ _ _ _

____“It isn’t.” Lady Isolde’s words were almost a whisper. “But the Dalish is right. If you go to the Circle, more innocent people will die. Or my son will be killed.” Isolde shook her head in a short, jerky spasm. “No. I will not allow this horror to go on another night. And I will not let my Connor die. I will be the sacrifice.”_ _ _ _

____“Isolde, no. Are you mad?” hissed Teagan._ _ _ _

____Alim thoughts mirrored Teagan's words. This was moving too fast. He looked to Alistair, hoping to catch his eye, but Alistair was caught in the same disbelief as Teagan. All of his attention was on Isolde._ _ _ _

____“Either someone kills my son to destroy that thing inside him, or I give my life so that my son can live. To me, the answer is clear.” Isolde was calmer than Alim had ever seen her, and he was afraid that her resolve would only give fuel to this dangerous idea. “I… am responsible for Connor’s safety. I am his mother.”_ _ _ _

____“Blood magic,” said Alistair with disgust. “Alim is right. Two wrongs won't make a right – we'll end up deeper in this than before.”_ _ _ _

____“Then you tell me where the right is in this,” Jael snapped. “Isolde and her son both live, and more people who had nothing to do with any of this die? That’s right to you? Because you,” to Alim, “fear blood magic, and you,” to Alistair, “care for the arl’s family?”_ _ _ _

____“It is perhaps worth considering that last,” Leliana put in softly. “Jael, if the arl recovers and his wife or his heir have been killed, how willing will he be to help us?”_ _ _ _

____“He’s bound by the godsdamned treaties,” Jael snapped. “If he won’t abide by them, then his honor wasn’t worth much to start.”_ _ _ _

____“Eamon will honor his obligations when he wakes.” Teagan’s voice was cold steel. “If he wakes. He’s a man of his word. But don’t think that abusing that fact will earn you any friends here, Jael Mahariel.”_ _ _ _

____“This is my choice!” Isolde’s voice shook, but rose over the building argument. “Connor is blameless in this and I… I have my part to atone for.”_ _ _ _

____Morrigan’s gaze, uncaring as a cat’s, slid across Alim to Jael. “There is a willing participant. This could all end here and now, and we might get back to the larger task at hand.” She shrugged.  
“As to the arl, men in power seem to care far more for their male offspring than for those who bear them. It seems a sensible plan to me.”_ _ _ _

____Teagan frowned. “You lead here, Mahariel. So the choice must be to you. It will be your companion going into the Fade.”_ _ _ _

____This was all moving too quickly towards an end that Alim couldn't abide. He grabbed Jael's arm to get his attention. “We need to discuss this as Wardens: you, me, and Alistair. Over there by the door?”_ _ _ _

____He saw the hard flex of muscle as Jael’s jaw clenched, but the request at least earned him a sharp nod. Jael pulled away and strode back out into the hall, obviously expecting Alim and Alistair to follow._ _ _ _

____Alistair gave Alim a grateful look before leaving the room and for a moment Alim entertained some hope that between the two of them, they might be able to pull Jael back from the brink of murder. But one look at Jael as he waited for them with resolve already written into his expression caused that hope to waver._ _ _ _

____It didn't matter. Alim had to try. “We can take a little time to decide, Jael. We can step back and look at this again – Connor seems stable for the moment.”_ _ _ _

____“What’s going to change with waiting, Alim? We’d just be drawing out the decision.” Jael’s tone was flat and tired. “We have to decide who dies here: Isolde, Connor, or the villagers. One of those is both culpable in all the misery and death here, and willing to sacrifice herself for the others. I don’t think you have a stronger argument than that.”_ _ _ _

____“You would be using blood magic, Jael! Everyone seems to have forgotten that it comes with it's own risks. What you might unleash with it could be worse than what the village is already facing. And then there’s Jowan.” Alim waved a hand back to the room. “You're trusting a mage who's partly responsible for this in the first place, who's proved he's not worthy of any trust over and over again.”_ _ _ _

____“What are the risks, then? More undead?” Jael asked. “Because we’re going to have that at nightfall if we don’t do something.”_ _ _ _

____“Maybe we can come up with a plan to keep the demon contained.” Alim's voice had taken on an edge of desperation. So far, Alistair was no help. “Surely between the three of us we can come up with something to keep Connor's demon at bay while we run to get real help.”_ _ _ _

____“Alim, Jowan’s already come up with one more solution than you or Morrigan have,” Jael said quietly. “It’s not the best one. But I’m willing to take a chance that Jowan’s not stupid enough to try anything when we’re all standing around him and armed.”_ _ _ _

____“He was surrounded by armed templars when he escaped the Circle!” Alim yelled. “He left me and the woman he was supposed to be in love with behind, and you're standing there ready to trust him with the lives of everyone here!”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, I am!” Jael snarled back. “I’m ready to do that because it offers us a chance of getting out of here with the fewest number of dead. Because our other choices mean we kill a child who never understood what he was caught up in, or leave all those people who were looking to us as their saviors to the mercy of the monsters we fought last night.”_ _ _ _

____Or unleash another demon on them, but Jael wasn’t willing to see that or trust Alim’s counsel. Jowan he’d trust. Jowan he would listen to despite the weeks Alim and he had spent on the road together, despite the betrayals Jowan had admitted to. Alim wanted to drag him farther away and make some of the immediacy fade so that some he could work some reason into Jael’s thinking, but there was nowhere else to go now. As long as the memories of the undead were beating away at the back of Jael’s mind and the price of being rid of them was the paltry sum of one human life, he wasn’t going to change his mind. Fine. There was another way to stop this._ _ _ _

____“Alistair,” said Alim, turning away from Jael. “We agreed Jael would be in charge until Redcliffe. We’re at Redcliffe. I think it’s time for a change.”_ _ _ _

____“I…” Alistair looked between them, but didn’t take up Alim’s challenge. “Jael, we can’t just kill Isolde! There has to be another way!”_ _ _ _

____“There is.” Jael’s manner had gone to absolute ice. “All you have to do is be willing to make the choice. Who will it be if not Isolde? Connor, maybe? He made the deal with the fucking demon, after all. Or maybe the smallfolk huddling together in their Chantry? In the village or the castle, what’s a few more corpses? It’s not like they _matter_. _ _ _ _

____“Which of them will it be, Alistair? Tell me, and I’ll stand aside. Then you can let Isolde know what’s been decided.”_ _ _ _

____Alistair held Jael’s gaze for less than a heartbeat before looking away. “This is wrong, and you know it.”_ _ _ _

____“There’s nothing right about any of this. Too bad you didn’t have this honed sense of morality when Duncan was gutting Jory.” Jael gave Alim a look of utter contempt, ignoring Alistair’s stunned anger. “I trusted you when it came to Zevran. He tried to kill you and Alistair and all the rest of us for coin, and I still went along with you when you said to spare his life. But you can’t trust me this far, can you? Even when neither of you have the heart to choose for yourselves, all that matters is that I don’t make a choice you don’t like.”_ _ _ _

____“My choice is that we go to the Circle.” Alim said flatly. Another mistake then. First in trusting Jowan, then in believing Jael had come to respect him in some measure. And maybe he had a little, enough to make decisions on the road easier or grab some comfort and companionship when he’d needed it, but now that the stakes were higher Alim learned just how shallow that respect had been. “You've refused to even entertain that. You won't listen to my objections about blood magic, you don't put any stock in the fact that I'm telling you a man I've known for most of my life isn't trustworthy, you've decided that any objections Alistair and I have are because of cowardice.” He looked to Alistair again. “This decision can be ours, Alistair.”_ _ _ _

____But Alistair avoided Alim's gaze. “I don't know.”_ _ _ _

____“We said he would lead us until we're at Redcliffe,” Alim pressed. But looking at the uncertainty in Alistair's eyes, he wondered if Jael's indictment of him wasn't right after all. “We're here, and we're on the verge of murdering a woman. Alistair, he's given up on us. What claim to leadership does he have?”_ _ _ _

____“Just… let him do what he wants, Alim, if he wants to lead so badly.” Anger made Alistair’s voice as unyielding as the stone of the castle. “If we take the time to go to the Circle, the villagers will be attacked again. He’s not wrong about that.” He glared at Jael. “But Lady Isolde’s desperate and in pain, and you’re taking advantage of it. She hasn’t even had time to think clearly after all she’s been through. Maybe you’re right. Maybe everything will work out and it’ll save more lives. But it’s a damned cold-blooded gamble.”_ _ _ _

____“And one I won’t be involved in,” Alim said. Jael’s decision was made, but if he thought that meant he could drag Alim into blood magic and murder, he was sorely mistaken. “I’m sure Morrigan will be eager to walk the Fade for you.”_ _ _ _

____There was a grunt from Alistair. “You’re on your own, Jael.”_ _ _ _

____“And you both get to keep your hands clean of blood and responsibility. Fine. I’ll play the role of the savage knife-ear if it means Isolde is the last death that thing gets.” Jael turned away from them both and headed back into the hall. The doors shut behind him._ _ _ _

____Alistair put his hands on his face, groaning as he pushed them up through his hair. “This is bad.”_ _ _ _

____“I really don’t want to hear anything from you right now, Alistair,” Alim snarled. “All you had to do to stop him was say he wasn’t our leader, and you couldn’t do that. You’re as responsible for what’s going on in there as Jael is.” He couldn’t stomach watching Alistair’s expression crumble, so he walked over to the wall beside the doors and sat down, staff across his knees, to wait. There would be murder and success, or there would be worse, and although he’d refused to take part in Jowan’s evil, he didn’t intend to let whatever they unleashed go unchallenged._ _ _ _

____Jael had thrown Zevran at him as if he hadn’t been responsible for recruiting a murderer of his own. A qunari who’d slaughtered a family was a given but somehow introducing Zevran into the group required a show of trust that justified any decision Jael might make, even one as heinous as this. And Jory, whose death had happened what seemed like an age ago now. Jael must have been simmering over that ever since, and how little he must have thought of Alim to hold onto the rage over a ‘shem’ he held in utter contempt. Jael could put it aside when he needed the odd moment of comfort, or perhaps the gloss of agreement on some decision, but the illusion that he held Alim in even moderate regard was swept away when the stakes were high._ _ _ _

____Alim was a Harrowed Circle mage with all the knowledge that came with that, and yet the man who’d walked out of a forest draped in a wolf pelt decided that was worth nothing._ _ _ _

____If that was where they stood, then Alim would adapt. Jowan had made the same choice when he’d abandoned him, and Alim had managed to find a way to adjust to a new life. But things wouldn’t be the same. He’d made a mistake by agreeing to give Jael outright leadership of their group, but that leadership ended at Redcliffe and from now on, Alim intended to claim his fair portion._ _ _ _


End file.
